Like a Rolling Stone
by SohoDoll
Summary: Damon and Caroline take off on a roadtrip to North Carolina. It might be a bonding and learning experience, but Damon has his own agenda, and they can't escape the violence and betrayal ever-present in their world. AU. Daroline.
1. Qualms of conscience

_I'm not a native English speaker and I don't have a beta, so bear with me :) I hope it's not just plain awful, but, if it is, feel free not to review._

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><p>How does it feel,<p>

how does it feel,

to be on your own

with no directions home,

like a complete unknown,

like a rolling stone?

- Like a Rolling Stone, Bob Dylan

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><p><strong>Qualms of conscience (Prologue)<strong>

It happened after midnight, when Caroline sat on her bedroom floor, in a school night (mind you), contemplating her options. She had just finished Interview with the Vampire (both the book and the film) and her head was full of disconcerted ideas. It was nothing like the Twilight series she used to like, but it was definitely insightful. And horrifying. At any rate, the kind of serious story Stefan and Damon would expect her to get acquainted with now.

Not a bedtime tale, maybe. Right then, the characters' desperation, insanity and loneliness were infusing her with worry about her own undeath. The past weeks had hardly been easy. Her mother couldn't ever accept who... what she was now and, even though she'd do anything for her friends in a life risking situation, it was hard to preserve the day-to-day relationship they once had. She broke up with Matt, for his sake, and she found herself alone. The world had suddenly become a dark place in which a variety of monsters lurked around and there was no one, really, to share that burden with her.

As of now, there was, in fact, something lurking outside the house. She could sense it. And it _was_ a monster - only she wasn't scared. She could smell it, too, and she instantly knew it was Damon outside her window. She couldn't really tell people apart by their scent, but she knew Damon's too well. Not a reason to be proud, she scowled.

Calmly crossing the room, he frowned and leaned closer when he saw her there, head down, looking like a rag doll. She didn't bother look his way, her mind working furiously, in a whirlwind of depressive thoughts.

"You look like shit," he commented, deadpan.

"Well, thank you," she snorted. "Good to know, considering I'm stuck with the same looks for eternity."

"Hmm," he nodded absently. "I'd be glad to leave you to sulk over eternal damnation, but I actually have something to discuss with you."

"It's like the plague," she proclaimed, dramatically throwing her hands up into the air. "Only, instead of vermin on my doorstep, I get the vampire through the window."

The statement was hollow, but she couldn't let him know that his very presence provided her some solace. He came to check on her twice since the wolves incident, but he always left without so much as a greeting. They both knew he did that basically out of curiosity as to how she was coping with the outcome of things, so it wasn't a big deal. She idly wondered what was different this time.

Stefan and Damon had come charging to her rescue, when Tyler failed her, and Damon had even suspended his bullying during her first breakdown weeks before, so he became less of an enemy.

He sat on her bed, unfazed by her apparent unwelcoming manners.

"Interview with the Vampire, huh? That's more like it," he said, remembering one occasion in which she explained to him the whole Twilight saga.

Since she didn't seem inclined to talk (that was new with Caroline), Damon went on:

"Are you still hunting with Stefan?" he asked, condescendingly.

She got up and walked around him, in her shorts, earning an appreciative look from the vampire, and sat on the other side of the bed, staring coldly at him.

"I am. What's wrong with that?"

"You're petulant for a ratsucker, Barbie." He flashed a short and cruel grin. "But I don't have time for this. I have a proposition for you."

After all these months, after everything he had done to her, after everything she had gone through, she couldn't grasp the reason why they kept in touch. Reliable as he might be, leave it to Damon to always make her feel completely unworthy. He could be an ally, but definitely not a friend.

"I have a little trip to make and it's in your best interest to join me," he stated, matter-of-factly.

Caroline narrowed her eyes at him. She was still dealing with the aftermath of the werewolves ordeal. It messed her up pretty badly. She was keeping her distance from both Matt and Tyler, she was avoiding her mother and she didn't have anyone other than Bonnie, Elena and Stefan to talk to about important stuff. At least Damon could have the courtesy not to choose a time like that to play games with her. They functioned much better in absolute silence.

"There are so many things wrong with that sentence, but you got me curious."

"There's a gathering in a vampire haven in Charlotte, NC," he said vaguely.

"Like a vampire dinner party?"

"To put it into cheerleading terms," he snickered.

"Whatever," she said, sighing. "You've made it pretty clear that you don't have any respect for me, Damon. I don't expect you to enlighten me as to your intentions any more than you should expect me to go anywhere alone with you."

He arched an eyebrow, but avoided her piercing blue orbs. Why was she acting out like that? Obviously, literature didn't do her any good.

"I'm offering an opportunity here, for you to seize your school break and take a few days off this place," he said, exasperated.

She seriously frowned at that. Since when was Damon so thoughtful? _Now, what a right little ray of sunshine._ Yet, she struggled to suffocate her need to believe she was relevant to someone.

"What do you care?" she asked in a small voice, her eyes trained on the floor. Damon always had an agenda, and he was only selfless in regard to Katherine, Stefan or even Elena, no one else.

He shot her a sideways look and hissed: "You're a predator, Blondie. The sooner you get that, the better. I don't plan on sticking around to save your ass next time, so I'm going to give you the choice to detach yourself from this town or else, you'll be buried here."

She glanced up at him again, clearly baffled. That was the most caringly he had ever threatened her. To be truthful, his observations hit close to home; she was worried about not being the one to bury her friends, but otherwise. It was such an egotistical thought, however, that she'd been shoving the fear of final death to the back of her mind.

"You can't live out in the sticks for long," he continued. "Especially not in Mystic Falls. You've got to learn how to blend in civilization."

She stuttered and nothing coherent came out of her mouth, and, as Damon impatiently waited, she thought he might be using that time to come up with a new nickname for her; something along the lines of stupidbloodsuckingwasteofspace. He got on his feet at once.

"I know you can be a little light in the gratitude and slow for everything else, so I'll accept the unspoken 'thank you, Damon' and I'll come pick you up sunday noon. I still have plans to get wasted and laid tonight, so I'm out of here."

He was the rudest person she had ever known and she was not interested in taking part in any of his schemes. She didn't trust him any farther than she could throw him, and last time she tried it was just a few meters away. But her incontrollable nosiness won that round, so she finally managed to utter something intelligible if only to prolong the conversation.

"What's in it for you?" she said, lamely. "It's not like you enjoy my company."

She watched his face change to mirror a variety of emotions. She looked so expectant that his stomach tightened and he looked away, unsettled by her obvious unhappiness. He handled the situation the way he knew best:

"That's an understatement. But, as I said, when we come back you won't be my problem anymore, and that's reason enough for me."

Using vampire speed, he vanished into thin air, leaving the 17 year old more agitated than before.

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><p>The next day was Friday and Caroline couldn't concentrate at class. A desperation growing inside her, she kept biting her lower lip. She didn't have a problem with being a vampire, an unholy creature and all that, but she didn't know what to do in practical terms. It wasn't as easy as to idly live forever; she still had to fight for her meals and she was supposed to eventually do that by herself, without Stefan guiding her every step. She would never age (she didn't want to be old, but she would like to experience her 20s and 30s) and she'd have to move around every time somebody started to notice that fact. She would never have a steady life and she was afraid that it inevitably led to insanity, after a century or two. Wait, was Katherine completely nuts? Was madness starting to settle over Damon?<p>

She growled, shaking her head slightly as if to make those random thoughts disappear.

"Caroline, what's the matter with you?" asked Bonnie when they left class.

Caroline was startled by her friend's concerned voice. To be honest, she hadn't realized Elena and Bonnie were standing right there.

"Nothing, I'm just... I have this huge headache" she blurted out.

"There's nothing wrong with your diet, is there?" The witch frowned, suspiciously.

"Hey, what are you guys doing for the weekend?" Elena chimed in, effectively dissipating the undertone of the conversation.

"No plans, why?" said Bonnie.

"We could hang out at the Boarding House tomorrow, watch horror movies, make some dreadful food. Damon will be out of town." She paused and lowered her voice a bit, speaking in a confidential manner. "He's been acting weirdly for weeks, full of himself, like he's in on a secret no one else knows."

"Conspiracy much?" Caroline said, tentatively, earning a sideways look from Bonnie.

"What is he up to?" Bonnie addressed Elena.

"I don't know, but his behaviour makes me uneasy," Elena confessed. She hesitated before going on: "He hasn't been very talkative around me, you know."

"I'd be relieved if I were you. Worried, but relieved", offered Bonnie.

"Yeah..." agreed Elena, looking anything but relieved.

She'd rather have him around, mused Caroline, tilting her head to the side and immersing in thought. Elena was one of the most no-nonsense people she knew, but she could tell the other wasn't immune to Damon. He stroke a chord with her friend alright.

Even though Elena had been the one who saved her from certain death in the form of a stake, Caroline didn't feel she owed the brunette anything. If it wasn't for Elena in the first place, perhaps there wouldn't be any vampires in Mystic Falls and she'd never be put in that position, she wouldn't have been turned into a monster. She loved Elena for who she was, not for her grand gestures. Those were driving her insane, like right now.

"Care, you could sleep over, Stefan won't mind," said Elena, sympathetically.

_Thank you, but I'm done being an extra_, Caroline thought, bitterly. Sometimes Elena could be too magnanimous, and Caroline wished she didn't need that, she didn't have to be Stefan's pupil and the subject of Elena's pity.

"Thanks, but I have a family wedding this weekend. It'll be so boring, but I have to attend," she said, rolling her eyes for effect.

Bonnie eyed her oddly and Caroline practically ran away from her friends, feeling immediately guilty for leaving them hanging when they only wanted to be there for her. The thing was - she wanted to be elsewhere so badly. God, she'd die friendless and alone.

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><p>She went hunting with Stefan that night and it was torture. Stefan was just like Elena, only worse. He was handsome - and a vampire. She was quickly surmising that there was something about vampires that made it hard for her to resist.<p>

The entire time she was there, she really wasn't. She was internally debating over whether she should take Damon up on his offer or get the hell out of that place by herself. At the same time, she wondered what was going on with him, there was most definitely a change in the air and she wanted in.

"Focus, Caroline." She heard Stefan's voice behind her. "Search for the prey."

Caroline narrowed her eyes and, combining her heightened senses and sporting abilities, got a hold of the animal, breaking its neck and swallowing its warm blood from its dead body. Drinking from a corpse wasn't to her taste, but she felt sated all the same. She wiped her mouth and raised her eyes to where Stefan was a minute before, only to find an empty spot.

Everything was oddly silent and she suddenly felt like an intruder amidst the dense growth of trees. The darkness threatened to engulf her and it brought back a lot of memories she thought she had burnt in a funeral pyre.

It was irrational, though. She knew that. It should be at least two weeks before the next full moon, so there was no reason for a vampire to fear the night. Not even if the last memory she had of being alone in the woods was as the victim of demented werewolves.

"Stefan, where are you?" she shouted, panicking.

Her eyes trained on the ground, she noticed a shadow towering over her own and the distinct smell of blood. She froze on the spot, shutting her eyes.

"I'm right here, I was just..." he trailed off.

She turned to face him slowly, her shoulders slumped.

"Can we go now?" she asked in a small voice.

His dark green eyes were bloodshot red when he gazed down at her, inspecting her face and body for injuries or tears. Finding none, he sighed, enveloping her in an unexpected hug.

"It's alright", Stefan breathed into her hair. "I'm sorry. Yes, we can go now."

For the few seconds she was in his arms, she felt secure and completely unaware of their surroundings. In that single instant, being a vampire wasn't dark or dangerous, it just meant watching the sun shine for hundreds of years, wearing a bunch of magic bling.

The damn wolves had truly made a number on her. If Tyler Lockwood was anywhere near, she'd crush his pretty head to pieces. Even though he wasn't to blame for what happened to her, even though they used to be friends, sometimes she just loathed everything he represented. She came to hate werewolves without discrimination.

As Stefan drove her home, she thought herself into a panic over the idea of being alone in the world, cornered by werewolves, evil trolls and whatever else was out there. There was no way she'd leave Mystic Falls (and Stefan's side), even for a day. She dragged herself to bed and fell into a restless sleep.

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><p>A vivid nightmare would change her mind in that same night.<p>

They were in the woods surrounded by a werewolf pack - Stefan, Elena and Bonnie. The witch was trying to keep them away using her magical powers, and Elena grabbed Caroline's hand to pull her as Stefan led the way. They managed to give three steps backwards before a big wolf jumped on them and their screams echoed in the night. When Stefan turned to them it was too late, there was no way he could take them all to a safe place. He made a quick decision. He chose Elena.

When Caroline woke up, she felt exposed and ashamed of herself for thinking, even for a moment, that there was a place for her there. She shook her head, disgruntled. That melancholy crap was getting too far.

She took her phone and texted Stefan.

"You awake?"

It didn't take long until it vibrated with a new message.

"Hey, Care. Stefan's busy in the kitchen, but he told me to reply. All alright? E"

_Technically, yes,_ thought one very confused Caroline.

She paced the room back and forth. To think of spending school break exposed to the sympathetic and accusing eyes of Elena and Bonnie gave her the chills. Although she loved her friends, she had yet to adjust to being around them in her new condition and they weren't making it easy, as one of them insisted on pretending she was still a normal teenager, and the other's glare was a constant reminder of her impairment.

Moreover, Stefan and Elena merged into a single entity, and being anywhere near Elena was like being in the eye of the hurricane. It might seem like Stefan wanted to help her, but he really just wanted to produce a new bodyguard for Elena, someone who'd take a bullet for her, literally. He didn't really care.

Damon, on the other hand, well, he didn't even pretend to care, but there was something intriguing about him that made you want to be on his good side. He was resourceful. She imagined he knew it all, from horror to pleasure, and she just found herself in desperate need of guidance.

The urge to venture herself in the world kicked up. Perhaps she could learn a trick or two with the elder Salvatore brother, but, mostly, she'd be on her own for the real first time. Making a split decision, she grabbed the phone again and called Damon abruptly.

"What is it?" he asked morosely.

"I can't tell my mom I'm gonna visit an aunt in North Carolina," She cut to the chase. She didn't want to use compulsion on her mother again, for such a meaningless reason.

"Right..." he went silent for a second. "I'll take care of that. Liz won't object, believe me."

The line went dead and she wondered if he meant he was going to compel her mother. She didn't worry much, though, knowing that Damon liked Liz a lot more than he tolerated her. With that very comforting thought, she dozed off.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>

_By now it goes without saying, but I like to drop a few quotes from movies and series here and there, so you might recognize some of the lines :)_

_Edited in 05.29.2014_


	2. Pink Noise Waltz

_A/N: So, here's the second chapter. This is isn't exactly what I was aiming for, but I didn't have time to polish it and I had to stop procrastinating. Many thanks for the reviews, faves and alerts. It really means a lot to me._

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><p>Once upon a time you dressed so fine<br>You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?  
>People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"<br>You thought they were all kiddin' you

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><p><strong>Pink Noise Waltz<strong>

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><p>"What the hell is that?" asked Damon, zeroing in on the huge duffel bag she was dragging since the front porch.<p>

She feigned innocence, her eyes wide and child like, and Damon almost forgot to admonish her.

"Didn't I make it clear it's a business trip, not an excuse for you to empty your whole closet and stuff it in a bag?"

At that, she grinned mischievously.

"That's hardly the contents of my entire closet, Damon. And you didn't say how many days", she replied calmly.

He took the luggage from her and threw it into the trunk of the car. "Get in."

He drove away pretty fast, but she didn't mind the speed. She put on her sunglasses and allowed herself to enjoy the ride. Damon chose a repertoire of classic rock songs, from the Stones to Bob Dylan, humming along. Caroline looked through the window, watching the green landscapes pass in a blur.

"What did you do to my mom?" she suddenly asked, when The Animals' version of _House of the Rising Sun_ started to play. "Before she went to work, she said she was glad for me."

She saw a smug grin form on his gorgeous features.

"I told her you just needed some days off to get over your 'identity crisis'. She was really happy you're under my guidance."

She scoffed, the sunglasses sliding down her nose a little, as she stared at him incredulously.

"What? And she believed you? And she was _happy_ for me, for supposedly hanging out with you?"

His grin just widened as he continued: "She came to talk to me a few weeks ago. She thought something was wrong with you, because of all the moping", he paused to glare at her for a second. "So I told her I'd check on you and provide updates every now and then".

As the narrative came to a halt, her curiosity itched and she prompted him to go on. Apparently, the story had a twist, as he shifted in the seat, uncomfortable with her gaze.

"I told her you were fine, just being the whiny brat that you are. She wasn't easily convinced, but, after the supernatural related murder spree, she is thrilled that you're out of the seventh circle of hell and visiting some colleges, in safety, with me, until things go back to normal. I'm known for my bigheartedness".

She gaped at him, at a loss for words. He was still avoiding her eyes, but his attitude went back to nonchalance.

"Are you serious?" she laughed.

"Yeah, well, that, and she's terrified there's a vampire sucking the life out of you. Ironic, huh?"

"You are deeply disturbed", she commented, pursing her lips. It was not an irony she appreciated, as she had no idea if and when she would ever try to reveal her true nature again to her mother. "I told the girls I was going to attend a family wedding in NC, but I didn't explain anything to Stefan and I'm not really talking to Matt so much.

"Relax, Blondie, even if they don't buy it it's not like you've left any reputation to preserve, here."

"I'm sorry, but I hold on to my last shred of dignity", she retorted, indignantly.

"Well, I think that's gone, too."

When Caroline recoiled in the seat, a flash of hurt in her eyes, perhaps Damon regretted his words, for his smirk disappeared.

He didn't understand why, at times, he felt responsible for her. At first he thought she'd be better off dead and he was willing to do the deed, but, Elena or no Elena, he couldn't. He made her and, unlike Vicky and countless others, she was an apt vampire. Even though turning her wasn't his pick, he could tell.

He considered her pretty much an airhead, but a brave one at that, and as her sire it bothered him to see all that potential go to waste. Stefan could barely fend for himself and, between attending high school and gushing over a human, he was incapable of teaching Caroline anything useful.

He hated her personality and foolish manners. Hell, he hated everything about her. But, for some reason, he wanted to save her from herself. He met suicidal kindred in his day and, though he thought Caroline was too fickle to harm herself, he'd rather have her occupied, just in case.

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><p>The next half hour was spent in total silence until Caroline saw a roadside bar and commanded him to stop because she had to pee. He thought she was getting bossy, but complied, because he had the same urgency.<p>

Coming out of the filthy bathroom, she found him already sitting on a stool, nursing a bourbon. Did he piss in vamp speed too? She thought about taking the stool next to his, but there was no point, since she couldn't order anything, being a minor. Used to Stefan's disapproval, she shied away from compelling in front of Damon, so she graciously sat on a booth in a dim lit corner and waited.

"Is that your girl?" inquired the bartender, looking from Damon to the blonde. "She'd better not be underage."

Damon's gaze swung to her. He was relieved she gave him some space. She used to be too clingy for her own good.

"No, and she's not," he said curtly.

"Then that's a hot piece of ass", growled the older man, drying his large hands with a greasy towel. "In your age, I'd be on my way over there to chat her up."

"Be my guest. It's like talking to a brick wall you wanna take down with a sledge hammer," Damon retorted, gritting his teeth and looking at her over his shoulder.

She looked beautifully angelic, he'd give her that. Her golden hair was a tad longer than when he met her and its soft waves riveted him, his eyes trailing down to where a hand played with the strands.

Right then, a man materialized by her side, grinning smarmily and leaning closer to breathe in her ear, eliciting an insidious laughter. Since he looked cleaner and younger than most of the truck drivers in there, Damon assumed he was the owner of a shining SUV parked outside. He didn't pay attention to the opening pick up line, but he heard her giggle and flirty reply, each word rifting the thick atmosphere of the saloon:

"I was not pouting, but, since you mentioned, there _is_ something you can do to make me smile-"

The guy didn't even flinch when she bit his neck ever so gently, her darkened eyes half closed. She enjoyed the flavour of his vital fluid while his body kept still in torpor.

A spectator, Damon quirked an eyebrow in surprise and, for a moment, he got caught up in that enthralling vision, a shade of pink covering Caroline's normally pale cheeks and her black lashes fluttering swiftly. When he finally broke out of the trance, he downed his drink and walked to her, tapping on her table, an annoyed expression on his face.

She reluctantly released her prey and followed him outside, her eyes still gleaming out of pleasure. Bunny hunting had been cut short last night and she just couldn't resist fresh food.

"So, you're getting better at that", he observed. "It was good compulsion."

"And I didn't feel the frenzy to drink all of him," she said slowly, somewhat proud of herself.

"Don't get too excited, though. We only know peace when we kill," he said, his blue eyes twinkling strangely as he walked over to the car.

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><p>Most people would take an all-expenses-paid trip with Damon Salvatore in a heartbeat. Caroline Forbes would have warned those people against it.<p>

Once they got back on the road, he plunged in an undeniable foul mood. Each of the Salvatore brothers is a downer in their own right, she thought. She didn't expect him to applaud her progress, but he could at least make the effort _not_ to ignore her. If he planned on shutting himself off the whole trip, what was the point in coming along?

"So, how come I didn't kill him?" she wondered out loud, breaking the silence.

"I don't know, maybe you grew up," he replied, highly annoyed. "It's a matter of control. You kill when a bad mood hits you. I didn't kill you."

"You intended to. But, ultimately, you just used me and discarded. Thank goodness for your mood swings, then", she said dryly.

He spared her a glance, but he knew better than arguing with her. In fact, he had no problem admitting he had fed on her and kicked her to the curb afterwards. _I am a vampire_, he stressed mentally. What else was he supposed to do? He didn't get attached, he couldn't care less.

"I must have learnt something from Stefan", she was musing as he tuned back in.

"Ooh, plenty! Little bunny foo foo, hopping through the forest! Picking up little- armadillos!" he mocked, sing-songing. "That's good education."

She attempted to glare at him, but couldn't hold the easy laughter that filled the space between them. He grinned as well. He was truly impressed by her earlier performance. She was precise and sexy and... sweet, unlike Katherine.

"You really don't have a problem with the things we do, the lives we ruin?" she questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"I don't know why that's so hard to believe", he said. "It's too easy to even feel sorry for them, and we - we just grow stronger as we go along."

She paused for a moment, pondering his words. Psycopathy 101, here we go.

"So these vampires you're meeting, are they your friends?"

"No."

"I figure, you'd have them killed by now, like Lexi."

"Lexi wasn't my friend, and I had a legitimate reason to dispatch her," he replied, staring at her menacingly.

"You can be really territorial," she said sarcastically. "But if they're not friends with you, care to share what it's about?"

She wasn't very into swimming with sharks again. Damon didn't say anything for a moment, but finally decided to address the subject.

"It's a concept that might be difficult to grasp, coming from Mystic Falls, but vampires in bigger cities live in an organized system, like an underworld society," he said. "It's safer to be a part of it, and it can be dangerous to cross their towns if you're not. So, we're off to get our citizenship."

Caroline had a billion questions, but she tightened her lips to avoid blurting them out. She was surprised that Damon was throwing her a bone, she didn't want to abuse his generosity and end up having to placate a mood swing.

"You don't want to spend another 17 years haunting that place, do you?"

"No," she mouthed, alarmed, and he nodded, a smile grazing his lips.

After that, they fell into comfortable silence and Damon turned the volume up as _Born to be Wild_ blasted on the radio.

* * *

><p>They reached Charlotte before evening, under a rainfall. They crossed the Garden Inn foyer, both completely soaked, and Caroline wasn't looking forward to compel the blatantly gay receptionist to overlook the fact that she was a minor travelling without parental supervision. Luckily for her, Damon stepped up and commanded the man to readily accept they were siblings and she was above the age of consent, all the while shooting condescending looks at Caroline.<p>

She scoffed. The man was clearly drooling over Damon, and didn't even need compulsion to buy his crap.

After Damon was done dealing with the front desk, he handed her a keycard to number 302 and Caroline blew her bangs all the way up to the third floor. Off the elevator, he stopped before a large door with a brass number sign indicating it was the suite 301.

"I figured separate rooms would cast less doubts over our blood relation," he said with a smirk. He swiped his own card, pushed open the door and disappeared inside the room, leaving her to tip the expectant bellhop.

Rolling her eyes, she walked to the next door and unlocked it using her own card. Awed by the suite spaciousness and its bygone atmosphere, she humoured the man and dismissed him with an absent gesture, striding across the living area and eagerly pulling the curtains open. The rain had subsided, but the sky remained bruised and heavy.

She turned back to help herself to the liquor she found in the minibar, sitting on the edge of an armchair and flipping her phone open to check e-mail. There wasn't anything important, but, in between a Facebook notification and a penis enlargement ad, one message caught her attention. The sender called himself "a friend" and the message contained a single line: "a pawn is moved".

She didn't have to be a riddle wiz to get it. She was everybody's pawn, that's what being a fledgling in the middle of a supernatural jyhad meant. But she couldn't bring herself to worry much over anonymous mail, feeling satisfied with herself for the first time in months. It was typical Mystic Falls melodrama and she refused to care for who was king, queen or horse, she just wanted a bath and a dreamless sleep on the large, comfortable bed in her hotel suite in another town.

* * *

><p>He called the next day. She knew he hadn't spent the night in the hotel, she heard his door clicking shut some time around 11 p.m. By 9 a.m., though, he caught her in a morning mood and she brushed him off with a growl and went back to sleep.<p>

Dawdling in bed until after noon, she eventually remembered Damon saying something about errands to run and how she should be ready by 8 sharp. She shrugged. The day was bright, and she could think of no better time to exercise herself outdoors.

After visiting the first floor shop for proper attire, she snuck out of the hotel. She found a nearby park to be the perfect place. There were families playing with their dogs and people working out toned up bodies. It was such a healthy environment - they all looked so happy, their organisms full of serotonin. With human speed and cheerleader conditioning, she went for a run. She didn't want to show up at night in bad shape and veins popping out.

She hunted in the park like a Hollywood serial killer, luring handsome males to aid with an ankle twist.

"I must have stepped in a hole", she lied. He helped her get up. Leaning against him, she went straight for his carotid artery.

Licking her lips some time later, she bounced up from the park back to the hotel. She was fed, but not as satisfied as she expected. Even though she chose a half deserted perimeter, she forgot the most elementary precaution: she hadn't compelled and he struggled too much. On top of this, it was harder to resist draining all his blood, she was abstinent since the day before. The danger of the situation, however, thrilled her, releasing her mind from the sadness that accompanied her for weeks. She felt like healing.

When Damon arrived, 40 minutes past eight, she was choosing her earrings by a mirror. He came into the bedroom and she looked at his reflexion. He was the most handsome version of himself, his hands in the pockets of his tux. But she didn't miss the coldness in his eyes. He exhaled blood and something else.

"I didn't invite you in," she observed.

"It's a hotel room and I'm paying for it," he replied with a chuckle. "It is _my_ domain."

She gazed at him pensively. "You killed someone last night", she declared quietly, turning around to face him.

"Yeah", he said, cruel grin in place. "I somehow thought fucking wasn't enough."

He made his way to her, towering over her slender, delicate frame and she shivered slightly. By the looks of it, he had had more than his regular amount of bourbon.

"Why do you do that, Damon?"

"Because I can. I am immortal", he informed her. She just kept staring at him with a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "Aren't you going to look at me in horror and freak out?" he scorned.

Ever since he knew her, Caroline seemed to adjust herself too easily to all traits of his psychotic personality. That girl was a nutcase.

"Why? Is that what Elena does?" she asked knowingly. _Cartoon birds braid Elena's hair every morning,_ she added sourly. She wasn't foursquare like that and she wasn't morally conflicted like Stefan either. She didn't believe in killing innocents, but she wasn't about to throw a fit over that: she knew that wouldn't move Damon one bit.

"That's what all you schoolgirls are supposed to do," he said in a raspy voice, then his eyes darkened and he dropped the subject. "You look ravishing tonight, Blondie."

He took a moment to give her a once over. She was wearing a deep blue cocktail dress with shoulder straps and an A-line skirt that ended just above her knees. The wrapped top made her breasts look fuller and the colour emphasized the tenderness of her skin. He could sense the fear and resolution emanating from her as he invaded her space.

"You want to leave Mystic Falls for good, don't you? That's why you're here, to learn quicker how to survive."

"I don't want to live in a place infested by werewolves," she said.

"You might like it here, it's a bloodfest."

She slowly nodded without saying a word. She was holding her breath because his proximity made her quiver. There was something about him that attracted her in despite of herself. Probably his disdain towards her.

"I think I really don't have the urge to kill when I feed," she said, trying to focus on his words rather than his moving lips.

"Try starving for a few days. You'll relish for the moment when their hearts beat in that terrible rhythm..."

He was breathing into her ear and she shut her eyes, feeling every word of his vivid description, her senses more acute with the floating smell of blood, whiskey and aftershave.

"Mere sex with humans is rarely that satisfying," he continued, pulling away. "But I guess _some_ girls can deliver bed-breaking sex. Screw me if I'm wrong."

He smirked and she flushed, grabbing her clutch and walking past him and out the door. "Shut up, you're running late."

* * *

><p>He pulled the car into the circle driveway of a white frame residence with imposing columns, and killed the engine. As soon as they got off the vehicle, someone jumped in front of Caroline and she stumbled back in surprise.<p>

"Are you enlightened, sister?" asked a black man wearing a bucket hat, extending her a flyer with just a white skull against a red background and an address below. She was too startled to reply and, before she could take the paper, Damon pulled her away, glaring at the man, who had already turned to inadvertent passers-by.

"Come on," Damon commanded, making his way to the front entrance.

The house had a colonial revival style and its proportions impressed Caroline. A woman with a subservient expression came running to the door, letting them in. At the entryway, she saw a very thin and tall woman talking to a 10 year old looking boy. He rubbed his eyes and she took his hand, whisking him to the living room.

"Do them children ever sleep?" Caroline heard him asking.

"They can't sleep, they can only dream" answered the woman, with an ethereal tone. "Sleep now, it will be over soon... all, in a moment."

Their voices died away and they disappeared in a side chamber. She shifted her gaze to a group chatting and sipping alcohol from black crystal goblets. Some of them were too pale to be mistaken by humans and no food was being served. Damon made his way to a large armchair and dropped himself heavily onto it. A brunette girl with alabaster skin standing behind turned to him with a sly smile and an extra glass.

Everything looked unreal, from the aerial place to the spectral people, but Damon didn't seem to mind. A sudden fear settled down upon Caroline as she realised she was a foreigner delving into dangerous territory.

The smell of blood came from everywhere in the house, but it concentrated in one direction. She moved slowly towards a room, the door ajar. She pushed it carefully and peered inside, only to be met with a nauseating scene. There were people inside filling their glasses with blood obtained from a couple of fresh corpses hanging upside down, suspended by ropes passing tight around their legs.

_Okay, so this is probably just the newest trend in bloodsucking_, she thought with contempt. She stepped backwards, trying to distance herself from the self-service facility, and stumbled on somebody in her haste. She swayed and the person grasped her shoulders to steady her.

"Easy there", said a voice that didn't belong to Damon. "You wouldn't want to force that ankle."


	3. Butcher's Ballroom

Thank you guys so much for reviewing! :))  
>Sorry for the (usual) delay. This chapter was extremely hard to write, sometimes a lot of things get in the way and the mood doesn't hit you.<p>

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><p><em>You said you'd never compromise<em>  
><em>With the mystery tramp, but now you realize<em>  
><em>He's not selling any alibis<em>  
><em>As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes<em>  
><em>And say: do you want to make a deal?<em>

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><p><strong>Butcher's Ballroom<strong>

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><p><strong><em>[Flashback] -<em>**

Sometimes, in the middle of a crisis, there comes a moment in which time stands still. For Caroline it was right then, in that strange setting, staring into a pair of glazed blue eyes contrasting her terrified ones.

Around her, hungry, sharp looking vampires and high society raging cokeheads were easily socializing. The undead watched as their prey drank and snorted to oblivion while sipping their blood fix concealed in the dark glasses. What a nightmare. She was having the creeps and she didn't want to know what else went down in that place.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you face to face," said the man, with an arrogant crooked grin. "You're exquisite."

Okay, maybe it wasn't so bad.

"You're dead," she blurted out, widening her eyes in horror. What had she just said? Of course he was dead, they were all dead. They were a bunch of animated corpses throwing a party. But since she was dead too it meant they wouldn't eat her brains, right?

"I mean, thanks." _Right?_

He gave a short, shallow laughter and Caroline took in his appearance. Much like her fate, he ought to have been imprisoned in a young body for a long time. He looked like 18, but he dressed like a business magnate or an experienced politician. Blonde and tall, with a delicate complexion and a handsome figure, he was haughty and refined to a fault.

"Don't worry about them," he said, nodding to the hanging bodies' room. "That one was a thug who beat a man to death three days ago. Evildoers are easier. If only they tasted better."

"Right. I think I prefer something with a little more kick."

She allowed him to guide her away, looking back over her shoulder. She knew the position sent a blood rush to the head and permitted better access to the jugular veins, but the functionality didn't make it any less macabre.

"I saw children here," she dared to say.

"Children? Ah, you mean the boy. Compelled, not bitten. I think he's some guest's offspring." He looked around at the party goers. "He sees things and this is a very old house, I'm afraid the supernatural activity was starting to stress him out. Rest assured he's safe."

Unsure of what to say to that, she just nodded. Creepy kids in horror films had always given her the heebie-jeebies.

"This way," he said, putting an arm around her waist and taking her to another room. Damon's eyes followed them and he got on his feet at once, pushing a vampire girl, who was all over him, slightly out of the way. _Vampire on vampire action must be really something_, Caroline thought, looking down at the other woman's advances before turning her full attention to the man by her side.

**_- [End Flashback]_**

Throwing a jacket over her shoulders, Caroline stormed off. She knew full well that Damon was following close behind, but she couldn't bear to look at him. She marched past his car and tripped over a mound. Regaining her balance, she stood there for a moment, but he didn't dare to approach her.

She shut her eyes tightly, clenching her hands into fists and swallowing hard. When she opened them again, she saw the cars rushing by as the night faded in quick motion.

Unexpectedly, she raised her head and just ran, hurtling along the streets, a sense of desperate exhilaration overflowing within her.

_**[Flashback] -**_

When they entered an old-fashioned library, where there were already two guys talking in a corner, Caroline scanned the place as if afraid something would jump on her any time now.

The blonde man, who introduced himself as John Astor, took off his jacket and gazed at her for a moment too long.

"That's really nice," said Caroline, with all the courage she could muster to impregnate her voice with enough saccharine to give him a toothache. "You, your function and all, but why do you seem to be expecting me?"

"As the prince of this city, it's my duty to be aware of... environmental changes," he said, with a cocky smile. Ignoring Caroline, he looked straight at Damon, who stood next to the door in silence.

"My fellow kindred," he said. "You came here today with the intention of joining forces with us."

She followed his gaze and, turning her head over her left shoulder, found the dark-haired vampire leaning against the door frame, in a stoic position mastered after years of training. She kept staring at her statuesque ex-boyfriend with a look of evident confusion, which he refused to acknowledge.

"Our comrades are usually embraced among us, but it's not rare that individuals come seeking permission to be a part of our sect. Mr. Salvatore has been under observation for the past months and I was quite surprised when he confessed to making another kin in that mean time. You."

He smiled softly at her.

"You know, Caroline, there's a curse darker than stealing the vitae of other creatures to survive." He paused. "Some of us suffer of intolerance for low pedigree. No other kind of blood provides me nourishment and pleasure quite like the fresh, vile liquid that courses through vampire's veins."

With another glance at Caroline, he sighed, pacing around the room.

"That's why Damon brought you here. But first business, then pleasure: although I am within my right to grant or deny the privilege of siring, my permission was never sought at all in your case. Damon should know that the laws that bind our society can't be ignored, the laws that are the fabric of our existence."

**_- [End Flashback]_**

When she returned to the hotel suite, almost an hour later, with dishevelled hair and irregular breathe, her eyes were dry, but her entire body trembled with rage. She took a shower, slipped a robe on and dashed to the living room in search of her ringing cell phone.

"We have to discuss a plan of action."

Her head snapped at the sound of his clear voice. He was standing by the living room window, looking through the glass and stuffing his mobile back in the pocket of his jeans. She couldn't believe how entitled he thought of himself.

"What the fuck are you doing here? I've just found out you sold me to a psychopath crazier than you," she hissed.

Damon observed her eyes change, the pupils growing darker and the irises turning bloodshot. She'd look scary to a stranger.

**_[Flashback] -_**

Caroline was in terrible need of a blood thinner. Every sentence he proclaimed caused a new throbbing pain in her forehead. She should have brought a tablet of Aspirin in her clutch.

"That's a serious transgression, the penalty for which is death," Astor continued. "But that'd be a shame, for I believe Damon would make for an upstanding member of our organization. You are, on the other hand, as beautiful as careless."

Damon watched them attentively, narrowing his eyes when John cupped Caroline's chin, looking at her adoringly as though he saw a giant fried steak with pimento cheese and pickles.

He placed the other hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer roughly.

"Excuse me!" She protested, trying to smack his hand away.

"I'm not a leader any more than a servant to the law that governs us all, and I can't overlook this situation, lest we'll endanger all of our blood."

"Alright," Damon interrupted, with a slightly riled inflection. "While all this law and order twist is sort of new, all this talk about chaos and destruction wore me out a few weeks ago. Let's forget about all that and we can arrange a glass of Barbie's blood, if that's what you go for."

The blonde man raised his eyes to Damon, but didn't release Caroline.

"You don't understand, do you? Once you're one of us, your future sired will be one of us too, but every new embrace must go through me first. So it's not just a glass what I want. Your indiscretion must be dealt with."

"What would you possibly avoid with her sacrifice? Tornados, volcanoes, dogs and cats living together... _mass hysteria?_"

"Don't your worry," Astor said, turning his attention back to the girl. "After I savor your sweet blood, I may be persuaded to still give your sire a diplomatic passport in our society. I'm sure that'll set your heart to rest."

"Ah, I think we're getting somewhere," Damon exclaimed with pretend enthusiasm. "How about you let her go and give us both that passport?"

The other vampire responded by baring his fangs and Caroline struggled as he tried to reach her neck. It was definitely not fun being the prey. Suddenly, a force collided with her captor, throwing him off balance a few feet behind and slamming his head up against the wall. Quickly recovering, the prince sent his opponent flying across the room and Damon found himself flat on his back.

"You're too impulsive for your own sake. You can't count on luck and witchcraft to defeat me, while I have the power to call a blood hunt on you. You'd never leave this town."

"Is that a challenge?" Damon asked, his eyes glittering.

Standing up, he noticed that the two other men in the place didn't bother to interfere. He knew that meant they didn't think he stood a chance against their host.

Astor regarded him for a moment and then laughed mirthlessly. He raised his hand in the air like a claw, ready to inflict more pain on Damon, when Caroline's high pitched scream cut the air.

"Ugh! Stop it! You both suck at haggling. Let's all calm down and I'm sure we can find a middle ground-"

"Understand my predicament," said Astor, with a smirk. "There's a strict code of conduct that we must adhere to if we wish to survive."

"I too wish to survive. You don't have to _hunt_ us down or whatever," insisted Caroline. "Not when we can be useful."

"I realize the blood bond between you two is very strong," Astor conceded, pensively. "That means the sire is a keen, powerful vampire. I may have another deal to offer."

Damon didn't back down from his stance and Astor went on.

"If you do this one thing for me, I might even endorse your request to join us, both of you."

**_- [End Flashback]_**

"You put me in that position again," she yelled some more. "I trusted you and you sent me to die!"

"I had to negotiate the system."

"No!" She cut him off, using vampire speed to get to him. She pushed him against the wall and grabbed the collar of his shirt. "You don't get to speak. I'm too tired to double as a pawn and a punching bag!"

"It's not like I threw you to the wolves-" He tried to grasp her shoulders to push her off of him, but her fangs came out ferociously and he felt his face burn as the flesh opened in shaky lines where fingernails slashed it.

She froze, gaping at him as the blood dripped down his cheeks before it begun to heal. He took advantage of her distraction to shift their positions, pinning her against the wall.

"This is not Mystic Falls. Vampires were supposed to be civilized here."

"Except when your own existence is some sort of felony!" she hissed.

"I didn't lie to you. In fact, I told you precisely what to expect."

"How's that?" She sneered, trying to fight him off to no avail. His hold was too firm even though he didn't appear to be putting much effort into it.

"For starters, I told you we were going to meet with vampires, not fairies." She looked pissed and he dropped the nonchalance. "And what I did will save you a lot of trouble in the future, you couldn't expect the negotiation to go smoothly but it was always under control" he muttered between gritted teeth.

They gazed into each other's eyes and then her own turned sad and opaque. He relaxed his grip and she disengaged herself, walking back to the bedroom without a second glance.

"I'm sorry if I don't believe your good intentions when you act like you'd walk over my corpse for free booze."

He could leave it at that or try to talk over their assigned quest, but, for reasons beyond his comprehension, it bothered him that she had so little faith in him. He wouldn't proudly stalk the darkest hours of the night for over 150 years if he was unable to see the forest for the trees.

"Do go on," he said indignantly, following her. "You really think that I had a whole blonde heroine sacrifice all planned out and just changed my mind at the last minute to save your life?"

She turned to him, blocking the doorway, both separated by mere two feet. "That's exactly what I think."

"You're known for your brains," he scoffed.

"But you didn't save my life. He could've kicked your ass." She was satisfied to see the anger emanating from him to meet her own. "You want to be a part of that special kind of creep, and that's fine, it suits you well. But now I'm stuck here with you and your little mission and what's in it for me, besides avoiding another premature death?"

"Those vampires have been a secret influence through all ages of human history, plotting against each other in a never ending jyhad," he replied. "It's like the old saying: if you can't beat them in the alley, join them. It's a choice you might not have in a few years."

She stared at him with a blank expression. His eyes seemed so limpid, even devoid of irony. She remembered a time when, peering into those blue orbs, she would lose any notion of time and space. He was being honest. He didn't plan on actually killing her; he apparently imagined a few drops of her blood would suffice to sate a centuries old vampire's disgusting fetish.

The problem with Damon was that, at some point in history, he had become so amoral, and sometimes needlessly cruel, that pain and destruction followed him around, it was just who he was. Not unlike that Lestat guy. She'd be a hypocrite if she said she expected good behaviour from him. It didn't mean he was in the clear, though. She was still angry at him for pimping her around. She hated being reduced to girly little Caroline.

As much as she wanted to end the argument with the glorious act of slamming the door on his face, her recent epiphany made her try for a more diplomatic form of communication.

"Never again," she warned him, moving aside to allow him to come into the bedroom.

**_[Flashback] -_**

"I have urgent matters to discuss with a primogen called Max Schrenk, but, unfortunately, his whereabouts are unknown," John Astor was saying. "I've heard he's hiding because of a feud with Therese Hilton, head of Durham. I'd appreciate if you'd convince her to call off the feud so it won't threaten my business and the safety of us all."

"And you can't do it yourself because...?" Damon dragged the last word, quirking an eyebrow.

"I don't want to. She's not a conversationalist, personality like a stone, and her sister's as crazy as a rabid fox." The elder vampire flashed a grin. "Do what you have to do, just don't stir any havoc. I'll be here, expecting to hear from Max."

**_- [End Flashback]_**

It was past three in the morning when it started raining again. Damon flopped on the bed, crossing his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling.

"I did some research today and I came across sparse information on the Hilton sisters. They run a club in Durham. We just have to go there, talk some sense into them and get this over with faster than you can say 'Sun and Moon curse bullshit'."

Caroline was in her pyjamas, lying on her side on the bed, a pillow under her head. She was facing the wall intently as though she was seeing through it. She was having a hard time keeping her eyes open and it made her wonder where Damon got his stamina from.

"Despite popular belief, you really can't beat the truth out of someone, Damon," she mumbled.

"Like every great general, I have contingency plans."

"Care to share?"

"My irresistible charm, of course."

He waited for a retort, hearing none. He then noticed by her relaxed shoulders and unusual silence that she had fallen asleep.

* * *

><p>I thought I should point out that in this story Damon never fell head over heels for Elena, Katherine is in the tomb and Klaus's just not important, haha.<br>Let me see what else. I drew a lot from the PC games Vampire: The Masquerade here, but I tried to dissipate a bit of last chapter's obscurity.


	4. Ragdoll Physics

I want to thank you all so much for every review, favourite and alert, it means the world to me.

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><p><strong>Rag Doll Physics<strong>

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><p>There was an empty spot on the bed next to her when the mid afternoon breeze, coming from the half-open window, softly whispered in her ear. Caroline stirred, her eyes still closed, revelling in her first recollection from the night before - falling asleep next to Damon, lulled by his voice.<p>

His strangely soothing presence still lingered in the room. Although she supposed she should be less susceptible now, it was more compelling than she remembered from her mortal days. _He_ was different now, almost like he _cared, _and that made her feel safe.

Blue eyes widened. What was she thinking? Why was she desperate to find someone who _cared_? First Stefan, then Damon. She realised she was beginning to expect the older Salvatore to be there for her in a way the younger couldn't: as a priority, because he owed her that much and because they had a different bond. A sire bond. She would be always grateful for Stefan's time and patience, but it was Damon, really, who got her to pull herself together and try to be in control of her nature, claiming what she became entitled to by that bloody curse that had befallen them all.

Still, she could not trust or forgive him for his continuous emotional abuse, something he seemed unapologetic about. An ally, not yet a friend.

It had been one hell of a dysfunctional rollercoaster. They had fun during their brief romantic relationship, but she knew she had been obnoxious at times and he had been abusive, uncaring, the vampire jackass, almost all the time. That emotion's switch crap be damned (she had another name for it: bipolar manic-depressive disorder; just saying). Then he saved her on the verge of death. That more than made them even - until he tried to stake her to final death. He also didn't stick around to walk her through her first nights as a vampire, coming back into the scene only to _save her sorry ass from a werewolf attack._

_Ugh, screw Damon_, she summed it up. She told herself he was but a footnote in the horror story her life had become.

* * *

><p>Damon woke up early and the rough four hours of sleep didn't do much to diminish his hyper vigilance. Aside from some books on vampire history sprawled on the bed, his things were already packed in a corner. Mel Brooks's <em>Dead and Loving It <em>was on TV.

When she drifted off, in the early hours, he carefully removed himself from the mattress and left. Although he was sleepy too, lying on his own bed he didn't seem to find a comfortable position. It took him about 30 minutes of numbness to doze off.

He felt repentant for his misdeeds, but only because he couldn't help it. Whenever Caroline or Elena or Stefan were in danger, he found it difficult to play the savage monster everyone believed him to be. The way he saw it, they were dragging his reputation lower than a snake's belly.

When he first met Elena, he thought his brother had no pride. He couldn't believe a human teenager had him wrapped around her finger, as beautiful and impetuous as she might be. In his opinion, she lacked the _joie de vivre_ of her _doppelgänger_. But, then again, it was Stefan, tortured, redemption driven Stefan. After witnessing her unfaltering integrity under dire circumstances, he came to consider her a friend, sort of. Saint Stefan had found Saint Elena and he was okay with that.

When it came to himself and Caroline Forbes, however, he knew better. Sure, he was drawn to her; she was drop dead gorgeous, vulnerable and impertinent (and best friend to Katherine's look-alike). But, besides his Katherine obsession and their personality clash, he knew a relationship between a human and a vampire could never be equal, or enough. He knew that, but he still went there. Time and time again, when he gave her his blood, when she was so broken and in pain; when he spared her after she turned; he couldn't bring himself to do it to her.

A witch had once told him not to give the devil a ride. Had he listened to the woman, he wouldn't be thinking of Caroline now, or the image of her serene features, when he left her bedroom that morning, would have stamped itself on his mind. _Fuck._ Suddenly, Stefan wasn't the most pathetic of the Salvatores.

He didn't hear her light steps in the hallway until she knocked. He stood up and crossed the living room in a blur, swinging the door open shortly before she made a hole in it.

Damon groaned at the sight of her, in tight jeans and sheer top, her bra barely concealed by a cardigan, her hair cascading over her shoulder in a side ponytail. She looked sated and he could smell the victim's blood. Her arm stopped mid-air, ready to knock again.

"Barbie."

"I had the manager for breakfast, just a little, I hope you don't mind," she informed him. "Can I come in?" He nodded, rolling his eyes, and she moved around him.

"I thought we were leaving today," she said, impatiently. "I already packed. Are you ready?"

His blue eyes surveyed her as he stood there silently, looking a little sullen. She eyed him warily. Maybe he didn't get over their differences crudely exposed the night before. Neither did she. He finally walked back into the bedroom. He turned off the television and stored the books in his bag, coming back to find her sitting on an arm's chair, holding a glass of water.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, biting her lower lip.

"You know, Barbie, I should find another name for you. Dolls just don't speak. Some of them even have their lips sewed together."

"Ew! Are you calling me a voodoo Barbie now? You know I _have_ a name. You might as well use it."

He just looked at her patronizingly. "Baby Vamp? What is it you wanted to ask?"

She glanced up at him with big blue orbs and spoke almost timidly.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked him, not for the first time.

She rested the glass on a nearby table and rose, pacing around the room, checking the minibar, touching the small pieces of furniture. She was like a squirrel on coffee after feeding.

"I don't want to delve into my mortal days, even though it was just, like, not long ago, because I feel like you made it up for that by healing me in the hospital. Otherwise, I'd be dead-dead, but here I am. Stick to the liquid diet, live forever, it's not that bad, but I wonder… is this a test? If you find I'm not cut out to be a vampire, is plan A still killing me?"

_Will you kill me?_ As he struggled to formulate an up to date answer to her signature question, it became less of an answer and more of a realization, hitting him like a bolt from the blue.

"You _are_ a vampire, and surprisingly better than most," he said unwillingly.

Her lips quivered slightly. She desperately wanted to believe his assurance, but evasion just wouldn't do.

"Does that mean you don't think I'd be better off dead anymore?" she insisted. Should she expect another attempt on her life? That thought had bothered her from day one since her transition and their recent disagreement just happened to highlight their trust issues. Caroline wasn't one to withhold that kind of preoccupation, and, now that they'd jumped on this honesty bandwagon, he could tell she would press the subject until she got it out of her system.

"No, I don't think I can," he mumbled. It was almost as if she was physically forcing the truth out of him.

She wanted his attention and his approval, and she wanted it so badly. His blood brought her back from the dead and he was possibly the one person who understood what she was going through, even if he didn't always sympathize.

He took two steps toward her, staring at her with such intensity that she was taken aback. "We'll try this new friendly cooperative thing and see how it goes."

When his soft breathe, familiar yet exciting, enveloped her, she wanted to give in to him and so she gracefully leaned forward.

He took in her delicate lips, her creamy skin and wondered why fate kept blowing that impossible girl his way. He didn't want to be her sire, or anybody's sire for that matter; she was a nuisance he tried to dodge. But the more he watched her struggle to adjust to her new condition, the more responsible he felt for her.

And sometimes it made it hard to contain the occasional urge to touch her, pull her flush against him, to bite and bruise her everywhere. He lifted his hand to tentatively brush her cheek, but stopped his midway surprised with his own trail of thoughts.

Thankfully, the phone chose that moment to ring and threaten to drop from the bedside table. Releasing a sharp breath, Damon flashed into the bedroom and back with it.

The space between them stretched and crumpled, replaced by the usual abyss.

"Damon?" She heard Stefan's voice on the line. Damon rubbed his face and growled in response. "Where are you? Where's Caroline? It's been two days and I know she's with you."

"Hmm. Relax, Stefan. Blondie wanted some time out of town and I'm giving her a foretaste of the college experience."

"That doesn't sound good," Stefan said, deadpan. "Where are you, really?"

Damon smirked. "I'm showing her around my _almae matres_."

"Elena is worried sick about her, Damon. Put her on the phone."

"Hey, Stefan," Caroline spoke up from where she stood. The three of them could hear each other perfectly.

"Caroline." He sounded relieved, almost like he was afraid Damon had gone postal and would be disposing of her body at that very moment. "Is everything okay? I'm sorry I couldn't pick up the phone when you called. I was worried when you didn't show up yesterday."

"It's okay," she replied, trying to sound cheerful, as Damon stared at her intently. "I'm fine. Damon's actually a good tour guide."

"Yeah?" Stefan said, not quite convinced. "How do you like Duke?"

"Oh, it's great!" She lied like there was no tomorrow. "But I gotta tell you, it-"

"You know what, little brother?" Damon cut her off. "I think we _already_ have a lecture scheduled, so yours will have to wait. Always a pleasure." He ended the call and Caroline shot him a look, but he didn't give her time to complain. He was out the door in a blink.

* * *

><p>Scattered clouds drifted in the blue sunny day as the landscape changed every twenty miles. Although Damon was actually sticking to the speed limit, Caroline wasn't enjoying the scenery. She was intent on trying to interpret his behaviour, without betraying her escalating anxiety. A lost battle.<p>

"You're a prick," she huffed, unable to keep her mouth shut any longer.

"I'd say you're not so faint yourself." He rolled his eyes. She had been quiet for precious 50 minutes. He supposed all good things come to an end eventually.

"Why didn't you let me talk to Stefan?"

"I don't want him sniffing my footprints," he snickered, his eyes on the road ahead.

"I wasn't going to tell him any location, I could easily sidetrack him, believe me." Really, he should be more appreciative of her acting skills.

"You were giving it away," he stated matter-of-factly.

"No, I wasn't!" she said indignantly.

He gave her a condescending look. "I told him we were visiting the schools I attended. Duke? Now he knows we're not."

Caroline's parted lips formed a small "O" and Damon spared her a sideways glance. Definitely a doll.

"Sorry about that," she said, sheepishly. "It's hard to be accurate with your biography, it's way too long."

"You can always call him," Damon shrugged. "It's not like your hands are tied. Just don't draw him a map."

He had a point. She _could_ talk to anybody if she wanted to. Aside from the 7 missed calls, she'd gotten a text from Elena and three from Stefan on her phone, half of them unread. She didn't want to talk to Stefan right now, she was complaining for the sake of saying something.

Damon wanted to slap himself across the face for being so put out over the fact that Caroline called Stefan before they were off on the trip. Had she consulted him on whether to tag along? Had she confided in his brother her concerns about his depravity? Either way, it shouldn't make a difference to him.

Caroline noticed his change in demeanour, but she decided she didn't want to read much into it or into the fact that, back in the hotel, he had been almost tender towards her. He didn't take his eyes off the road, seeming to think that the faster he drove the more distant the memory of that awkward instant would become. Fine by her.

"Have you even attended college in NC?" she asked.

"University of North Carolina." He paused, as if trying to remember. "Class of 1898."

He told her about life on campus, the Chi Phi fraternity, late night dates at the Old Well, the Order of Gimghoul. He actually made her want to have a tour. Maybe she could ask him later, before they went back to VA.

* * *

><p>The sky was gloomy when Damon pulled the Camaro into a parking space in a side street, across from a three-story brick and block building covered with graffiti. There was a neon sign out front that read The Asylum.<p>

"Let's go see if it's open," he said. It was still early evening.

"Excellent. A bar so low we can step over it," she grumbled.

They heard some movement from inside, but there was no bouncer at the entrance and Damon pushed the old-fashioned door open. It was dark and smoky and Caroline took a couple of seconds to adjust her vision. By then, Damon was already speaking to a blonde blue-eyed girl with heavy eyeliner, slutty dress and a choker.

"Every time," Caroline muttered, utterly displeased. It was becoming a recurrent theme as of late, anywhere they walked into there was a desperate female waiting to throw herself at him.

"Oh, what do we have here? Another scrumptious young plaything straight out of life and into my club?" purred the woman. "I'm not frightening you, am I, duckling?"

Damon gave her a seductive grin, one he had also given Caroline back in the day.

"Hardly," he replied.

"I can tell you and I are going to get along just like fire hoses," she said, flirtatiously. She had a sultry voice. He arched an eyebrow inquisitively and she elaborated. "When we get turned on, there's bound to be flames."

Caroline almost gagged and even Damon seemed surprised by her boldness. She was hotter than your average vampire and fully aware of it.

"Aren't you a tease?" He said. "Got a name I can remember you by?"

"I'm Jeanette." She looked obviously delighted, turning her attention to Caroline. "You look fresh, sweetheart. I'd just love to give you funny feelings all night, but I really must trouble with some business. The three of us will reunite sweet and soon, I promise."

With that, she waltzed among the scarce clientele, directly to an old elevator in the back. The bouncer guarding it stepped aside and she got in.

"Soon can't come soon enough," Damon shouted after her, with a sly look.

"Ugh, would you quit the goofy smiles, please?" said Caroline.

"No need to be jealous, she doesn't discriminate."

She rolled her eyes and walked away, sitting in a small booth. Good time as any to read those texts. Damon went straight to the counter and called a broad shouldered bartender over.

"I'm looking for Therese Hilton," he said pointedly.

"Therese?" The other man looked on disinterestedly. "She's upstairs. I can hear her and Jeanette bickering from here. They're not receiving anyone tonight. You should call tomorrow morning and make an appointment."

Damon cursed under his breath, eyeing the bartender's vervain filled earring as though he was hoping to set it on fire. He went over to Caroline when that didn't work out so well.

"Stay here," he said. "I'm gonna find a way to talk to the baron. The people here are walking bottles of vervain, so you might as well have dinner at the hotel."

She lifted her gaze to him. She was in the middle of forwarding a very generic message to her friends. _Guys, I'm sorry for not explaining it better, but I just really need some time away to figure out stuff_.

"'Let's split up'? Seriously?" she said. "Famous last words! What if there's an ax murderer on the loose?"

"As long as you don't feed on him, you can keep the ax."

"Damon!"

"Nothing's going to happen. I'll be back in less than 10 minutes."

"Why can't I just go with you?" God, did she whine.

"You'd cramp my style." He smirked. "Just do me a favour and don't leave this table."

She was about to protest when her phone's screen flashed the name of the one person she truly missed.

"Ass," she muttered before taking the call. "Hi, mom."

* * *

><p>Damon was pressing the girl against a wall, at the end of a spiral staircase, and she giggled nonstop. A waitress at the club, she was hopelessly awed by his good looks. He leaned in closer and, as soon as she closed her eyes, he ripped the necklace from her throat.<p>

"Hey -" She gasped, in shock.

"You must have dropped your necklace," he said, resisting the urge to break her neck. That'd be uncalled for and he didn't want to keep Caroline waiting. "Thanks for leading the way. Go back to work and forget all about me, as hard as it may be."

"I'm going back to work," she said, much like a zombie.

She scurried away and Damon tossed the trinket in his pocket. Hearing female muffled voices engaged in a heated argument, he walked towards a large door in the end of the hallway. _Fuck you_, _Therese_ this, _shut up_, _Jeanette_ that. The elevator's door chimed from inside and the screaming subsided. Seeing as the door was conveniently unlocked, he pushed it open to discover a tidy office.

"Who is there?" asked a feminine voice.

"Greetings from the prince," he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "I'm Damon Salvatore."

He bowed and she folded her arms before her chest. Therese Hilton was a blonde with wavy hair and a curvy body almost secreted by a neat, long dress. Her face resembled her sister's astonishingly, but no one could take her for her wild twin. She had icy grey eyes and she looked so poised she dominated the room.

"Forgive my unconventional call," he said, charmingly.

She sighed.

"I apologize for my sister's crassness, I take it you've met her." She turned her head over her shoulder to glare at the elevator's door. "She's unabashedly scandalous - but, in the club business, I suppose that kind of personality is a necessary evil."

"Jeanette? She was no trouble," he smirked. "Are you Therese?"

"Of course. I'm the proprietor of this club, and the only person in this city whose good side it's in your best interests to stay on. What brings you into town?"

"You see, John Astor is getting antsy because he hasn't heard from Max Schrenk in a while. Rumour has it you're the reason he's hiding out at the moment. Hence, I need you to call off the feud."

Therese scowled.

"Schrenk's exile is self-imposed, I assure you. But then, what reason would I have not to hate that scoundrel?"

"What reasons do you _have_ to hate him?" He asked her.

"He meddles in my affairs!" She threw her hands up in the air. "He's a bad influence on my sister, and she on him. If you were in my place, would you let him compromise your authority? You most certainly wouldn't."

"Well, I don't know, I'm a laid back kind of guy," his lips curved upwards as he lied through his teeth.

But she wasn't paying attention to him, her eyes gleaming, her mind elsewhere. She suddenly snapped back.

"I'd be willing to put the word out that my grievance with Schrenk has been swept under the rug, but, in return, you'll have to help me."

Damon groaned. Why did everyone want a piece of him? He wasn't very keen on having people pose obstacles between him and the things that he wanted, but that had been going on a lot lately.

"There has been one too many recent strange deaths in this city..." she trailed off.

"So? Where I come from, everybody dies from supernatural causes."

"This is not a serial killer, a deranged vampire, not even a werewolf case," she went on. "It's a blood disease, and it takes more than one lunatic to spread it. The bodies have been piling up, mostly bums and low-lives in general. People no one would notice."

"Vampires' prey choice," said Damon, realization dawning on him. "So, that's why your employees wear vervain for uniforms."

"You understand how cryptic the situation is," she assented. "We don't know if the disease affects us as of yet, but we need to preserve our supplies. Even more so because, sooner or later, it will make the headlines."

"Now, although the prince doesn't seem to be the least bit concerned about this, I won't sit around and wait until all hell breaks loose."

She walked to a mahogany desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a square card that she handed to him. "A college student was found dead just around the block a week ago. This was on the body."

It was a white card printed with a red skull. Damon narrowed his eyes as he recognised the handwritten signature at the bottom.

"Help me find out who's spreading the epidemics and I'll call off the feud."

_You better_, thought Damon. As though she could read his thoughts, Therese smirked and spoke sweetly: "John will be so thrilled to have Schrenk back he might even give you a star. And, so long as our business doesn't go sour, my word is gold."

* * *

><p>Damon came down the stairs and immediately spotted Caroline, a glass of beer in front of her. He took a seat next to her. The place was a lot more crowded.<p>

"Did you miss me?" He flashed a cocky grin.

She glanced up at him. Not that she was counting, but she knew he hadn't been away for more than 15 minutes.

"Terribly," she rolled her eyes.

"I thought I've told you it wasn't safe to drink anything in here," he said, pointing at the beverage.

"I didn't even touch it," she said, defensively. "Some guy bought it for me."

A lousy guy, but Damon didn't have to know that.

"A beer for the gentleman?" offered a waitress passing by.

He wasn't much of a beer drinker, but he occasionally indulged himself with some of the good stuff.

"What do you have on tap?"

"Carolina Blonde?" She raised a bottle so he could see it.

_Yeah, what else?_ he thought, making a face as the blonde vampire by his side smirked.

"So, it's safe for you?" Caroline raised an eyebrow mockingly as soon as the woman walked away.

"I'm not a vampire in training."

The waitress returned in no time to serve the ale. Although she popped the bottle open in front of him, he eyed the glass carefully and brought it closer to his nose, trying to identify the smell of vervain. Caroline turned her attention back to the stage, where the band started to play the first chords of a slow, soft melody. The frontgirl leaned forward on the mic stand and her clear and sweet voice filled the venue.

_What a beautiful collision_  
><em>Things that go bump in the night<em>  
><em>With such beautiful precision<em>  
><em>Fate could create you and I<em>

Caroline let her mind wander. The events that followed her transition made her toughen up and become a little less self-conscious. Her morals shaken, her friendships suspended, her goals undefined. She remembered her disposition to leave Mystic Falls. She'd agreed to come with Damon to see if she could fend for herself in the real world, but she found herself getting more and more dependent on him, instead.

_Do you know what it means_  
><em>To abandon your dreams?<em>  
><em>To leave with the storms rolling by<em>  
><em>How the clouds on this day<em>  
><em>Come to take you away<em>  
><em>'Til you're gone, gone far away from me<em>

Sitting there, having a beer in that obscure speakeasy, Damon decided this trip was turning into one of self-discovery. He was proud of what he had accomplished after he quit pinning for Katherine, and embarrassed for having spent so much of eternity enslaved by a she-devil who ultimately deserved being buried in that tomb. Ironically, Mystic Falls gave back everything it had taken from him. He was now a brother, a friend, a brain truster. And Katherine herself gave him the experience of being a sire, by turning one of the only girls he couldn't find it in himself to kill.

He felt when her gaze rested on him, but, when he turned to look at her, she was staring ahead, worrying her bottom lip.

"Come on, Caroline, let's get going," he said.

She turned to him sharply. He had actually called her by her given name. He figured it was well worth the effort when she presented him with a quick smile and nodded.

* * *

><p>Caroline was mildly surprised when they checked in The Carolina Inn on the UNC Campus at Chapel Hill, some twenty minutes later.<p>

"It's just for one night," Damon informed her. "We have a little investigation to do in the morning. Speaking of which, enjoy yourself before Stefan jumps you. He's not fond of torture, but the endless interrogation _might_ bore you to death."

The decor was enchanting. It felt like travelling in time, back to the 1920s, with elements of the 18th and the 17th centuries. It looked old, traditional and expensive.

"Oh, my God, is this from the time you've been here?" she breathed, taking in the furniture.

"Not really. The place was established in 1924, the same year as the Gimghoul Castle was built, a place I'd like to visit as well."

They reached an unlocked guest room, where her luggage was already placed.

"I ordered actual food from the restaurant," he announced offhandedly after dismissing the bellhop and a playful expression flitted over his face as he watched her, literally all over the place. When she stopped moving, she brought up the plague bearer situation, but he didn't want to discuss it anymore. He was calling it a day.

They stood in silence right before each other in the middle of the room, until Caroline's verbosity manifested itself.

"I called Stefan before I called you the other day because I wanted to tell him I wasn't going to go hunting this week." She didn't know what possessed her to say that, but she just wanted him to know that she made up her mind on her own.

"Caroline, I don't care." His unreadable sharp blues glittered. It was a lie, but he was going to end it on a genuine note.

"Oh."

He stepped forward one pace and watched her draw in her breath.

"Look, if you need to talk to Stefan, because he's _so_ insightful, that's fine," he said. "I don't want you to regret coming along, at this point, that's all."

He broke off, looking around the room for an alcoholic escape from that awkward conversation he somehow have gotten himself into. Surely, her babbling was contagious.

"I don't," she said, without hesitation. He looked at her again. "Regret, I mean."

She looked up into his face openly, inhaling his scent, captured by his handsome features. He gazed back at her, trying to overcome the conflicting emotions his cloudy eyes betrayed. It could go from detached to passionate in a second. As she threatened to speak again, he drew nearer and, on impulse, placed a kiss on her lips.

Her eyelids fluttered, her surprise evident, but as he began to pull away he felt her respond, parting her mouth slightly, her tongue gently caressing his lips.

He broke away and leaned in closer, touching her forehead to his.

"Why do you have to talk so much?" he groaned.

"You only like the sound of your own voice," she said breathlessly. "That's your problem."

"And I bet you want to _talk_ about it."

"You-"

He cut her off mid sentence by kissing her again. He felt the pounding of her pulse in her throat, his hands sliding and firming on her waist. Their uncertain swirling of thoughts was replaced, for that fugitive seconds, by the crippling desire for each other. Caroline wrapped her arms around his neck and stopped talking for a good reason.

* * *

><p>It was great to find other VTM fans through this story, so I added a few more elements from the Bloodlines game into the mix.<br>The song playing in The Asylum is Beautiful Collision from Bic Runga.  
>Thanks again for reading.<p> 


	5. Velvet Embracer

**A/N:** Thanks again for your wonderful reviews, they make so happy!

This chapter is kind of a filler, but it still has important information, I hope you like it. Please, let me know if you do

* * *

><p><strong>Velvet Embracer<strong>

* * *

><p>Stefan Salvatore knew his brother very well, better than the former gave him credit for. He knew, for instance, that, although Damon wasn't serious about visiting prospective colleges with Caroline, he came up with that story by association with the place where he currently was. When he asked Caroline about Duke, her promptness to answer provided him further evidence that they were, in fact, in North Carolina, where Damon had once attended school. Having narrowed down the search radius, he went to Bonnie for a location spell.<p>

As far as Stefan and Bonnie could tell, neither one of the missing vampires had any business in Durham, NC, and so they were still understandably surprised to discover them there. Convinced that Damon had gone nuts and Caroline was temporarily out of her mind as a side effect of the transition, Bonnie stomped her foot on the floor and practically ordered him to "do something about it".

They ended up calling Alaric to see if he had any idea on what Damon could be looking for. The teacher and vampire hunter suggested countless enhancers and apotropaics, such as amulets, wild flowers, consecrated ground etc. It was useless speculation. It didn't really matter. Even if Damon was buying garlic in the nearby market that would still be seen as a general prescience of doom.

The discussion only added to their growing, now collective, concerns, and, when Elena arrived at the Boarding House that afternoon, the three of them turned to her with alarmed eyes.

"What?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

They explained to her, in a rather confusing way, that Damon had said he was taking Caroline on a trip to college campuses and that they apparently were doing exactly that. It was a bit frustrating when Elena didn't immediately understand what was so panic-striking about it. They eventually persuaded her, though, that there _had_ to be something more sinister to it, what with Damon involved.

"C'mon, Damon and Caroline?" said Bonnie. "She never told us anything about going anywhere with him."

"She's a newly turned vampire," Alaric murmured and shook his head repeatedly, like he still couldn't believe it.

"It sounds off," agreed Stefan.

Elena took in Bonnie's words. Damon and Caroline, indeed - she wondered. She didn't think he would put Caroline in danger; she knew he cared for her blonde friend. But he was still not the best influence. She was torn between going after them and staying to keep an eye on Jeremy. Ultimately, she decided it was hers and Bonnie's duty to protect her family and the town during the Salvatores's absence. Even with Katherine out of the picture they still had to watch out for the next ancient evil.

Together, the schoolgirls sent the vampire and the vampire hunter on their way to NC. Even though they didn't think the expedition would last more than a day, Elena had to remind her boyfriend that she couldn't be safer, in the witch's company. Stefan whispered in her ear loving words and left.

Thanks to Bonnie's _hocus pocus_, they knew exactly where to look for the duo, but they still disregarded the speed limit, to make sure they wouldn't lose track of them. Fortunately, they found them just leaving the nightclub, driving off to a destination that soon became clear to Stefan. A university campus. He almost felt guilty for thinking ill of his dear brother.

Damon's unusual distraction allowed them to follow far behind without being detected. They pulled over across from the Inn five minutes after the inadvertent vampires, and Stefan jumped off the car to check out the place, telling the human to wait. He circled the property, stopping short under a specific window. He heard their voices, low, raspy, hesitant. As Caroline's voice quivered defiantly and was suddenly muted, Stefan fully realised his intrusion.

He shook his head, nonplussed, and walked back to the front entrance slowly. He had no idea...

"So, are they here?" asked Alaric. "Is Caroline okay?"

Stefan nodded affirmatively. She was more than okay. "You don't look nearly as much relieved as I thought you would be," Alaric observed, suspiciously. "Did you see them? What did you hear?"

"Something about a plague bearer."

"Sounds very apocalyptic," Alaric commented.

He proceeded to tell him every gruesome detail he remembered about pestilent vampires. He recounted how Europeans in the 16th century believed the bubonic plague was spread by vampires, which led to countless anti-vampire exorcisms and bizarre exhumations. Stefan wasn't really interested in the History lesson. He had just heard something that surprised the shit out of him. His brother gave Caroline Forbes a shut up smooch. Alaric was right, apocalyptic was the word to describe it.

The more he thought about it, though, the less surprising it seemed. Granted, they weren't friends, they barely spoke to each other and, until a couple of months ago, their feelings for each other hovered somewhere between hatred and despise. But something had changed, gradually, and Stefan saw it all along, even if he didn't acknowledge it at the time.

Damon loved Katherine madly, a madness that only stopped when he realised that, being a narcissist, he loved himself more. Rid of her nefarious influence, he was somewhat reformed: his permanent anger wasn't as much misdirected as before.

Caroline and Katherine were so different from each other that it didn't leave room for comparison. They were simply unparalleled. The Caroline he knew was a human girl determined to be cheerful at all costs but with a quality of _enchantment_ that subsisted after death and to which Damon wasn't immune.

Of course he could be playing her for his own purposes, but there was something raw to the moment Stefan witnessed, and Damon wasn't that good a pretender. And of course, she was sired by him. Blood of his blood, if you may, in an non incestuous way.

Stefan knew first hand that Caroline was going through a difficult time and he hoped his brother wouldn't fuck things up again, or Elena would undoubtedly blame that on _him_, like he had the power to keep Damon in control.

* * *

><p>When Damon's lips crashed down upon hers, Caroline started. She had anticipated that moment, feared it, longed for it, accepted when it didn't happen, but when it did she was caught completely off guard. At first she was too shocked to move, but, when he began to pull away, she just wasn't ready to lose the contact. She pushed her lips up to his and kissed him back.<p>

He left her in a breathless daze, but he still had the nerve to taunt her. And then it started again. He pulled her to his chest and she just let him kiss her. He rested his hands on her hips and she threw her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair.

His touch was powerful and intimate and her knees started to buckle, her mind going foggy. He deepened the kiss and its intensity sent shivers through her body, even when it softened by the end. When they finally broke away, her lips were numb and his eyes, hazy.

They gazed into each other's eyes for what seemed an eternity, her slender form still gathered in his arms. As he slowly pulled away, she cleared her throat shyly to make sure it was okay to speak now (not that she would complain about his methods of silencing her).

"I- I think we should _not_ talk about this until after dinner," she said.

He drifted nearer the window, a smile playing on his lips. A polite knock on the door announced the arrival of room service.

* * *

><p>Without ceremony, Damon helped himself to the gourmet dishes, outwardly nonchalant. The silence, however, grew between them like an echo of the preceding moment. As she stared at the equidistant plates on the table, the awkwardness settled on Caroline, noiseless like a restraining hand, invisible, suffocating, forcing her to face the nagging thoughts insinuating themselves in her mind.<p>

She wondered why; why did he kiss her and why did she kiss him back. It was like fate shaped up the general turn of events, so as to make their paths merge into one. But the idea of bending her life to Chance didn't appeal to her. She didn't want to get tied to a feeling that wasn't mutual.

She didn't know exactly what he wanted from her - sex, a thrill, an infatuation, a escape. After Matt and Tyler, she took a fancy for being favoured, and she wouldn't settle for less. To be fair, she was starting to see his respect and regard materialized in his protectiveness and in the way he talked to her now. But maybe that kiss came too soon in the middle of the timid process of reversing the nature of their estranged relationship. _Well, that boat has sailed._

There was also the fact that she didn't know what she wanted from him. She had been in far too many relationships in the past one year or so and she was tired of falling for all the incompatible types. There was the psycopath, the vampire hater and the werewolf, and back to the maniac again. Had he really changed? Was he going to _stay_?

She released a soft sigh, reminding herself to relax and live in the moment, and tasted the food with an appetite she didn't know she had.

"What does this organization stand for?" she asked out loud. He looked at her, as if glad to have his own thoughts interrupted.

She came on this trip to watch and learn and this was as good a time as any to start. She loved the idea of a vampire society bound by rules that allowed them to coexist with humanity and protect themselves from other supernatural dangers, but, when it came to the fangy, she knew better than believe they were always on their best behavior among themselves. John Astor proved her point. Her guts also said that Damon had a knack for challenging forces much bigger than him, bringing about tidal waves that usually swept them all.

"There are the politicians and the sheep," Damon said nursing a glass of wine out of his bourbon habit. "They recreate human society, vampire version. They stand for mass control and look down on those who lack affiliations or allies and make sure they hold no power as a dismantled group. Above all, they see themselves as guardians of the Masquerade."

She raised an eyebrow.

"It's a non disclosure policy. Keeping vampires' secrets secret."

"Then they should give Stefan a Masquerade medal or something for cleaning up your mess."

He shot her a half-hearted glare.

"I'm the one who cleaned up after him. And I'm doing Deliveranceville an inestimable service by slaughtering its heedless supernatural inhabitants. Ask your mother."

"It's a wonder how you manage to be so humble," she smirked, sipping the _pinot noir_. It was nice to have dinner with him, a change of pace for both of them. Damon didn't do dates in which his companion wasn't the main course, and, lately, neither did she.

"It's bad for your health," he went on, "to violate the Masquerade, spooking humans or whatever. In the Masquerade society, you risk ending up staked and baked."

"In all seriousness?" she rolled her eyes. "It doesn't sound like your cup of tea, out of all people."

He stared at her for a few seconds, deciding whether to share his concerns with the undead cheerleader. Once a vapid small town girl with a sharp and delicious tongue, she went through death and back to blossom into this interesting and strong minded vampire. Tongue as sharp as ever - still delicious and even more skilled. Shaking his head to regain some objectiveness, he spoke up.

"Times have changed very fast in the last decades. As our number grows, more conflicts arise, it's harder to feed and secrecy is of the utmost importance. Even if I didn't agree, that's all the rage these days and I don't want to be left out to find myself, a decade from now, fighting hordes of vampires on top of the usual werewolves, witches and the odd poltergeist. It all comes down to self-preservation and I plan on preserving myself from ostracism and obliteration."

"What about John Astor, what's his E! True Hollywood Story?" she asked. "I mean, he's roguish, even for a vampire."

"That fiend," Damon snickered. "He's a prince, which means he presides over a specific dominion, in classic feudal style. As I see it, his main job is to pass judgement on others."

"What I can't tell," he continued, leaning back, "is if he's the pawn of some greater power, or just rotten in and of himself."

"Don't hold yourself back," she smirked briefly. Astor being a pawn. Now, that was an idea she liked. "But that's just crazy. Stefan never told me any of that."

"And how would he know any of that? For 146 years, Stefan went out of his way to ignore these things." Damon scowled. "But they have never been so popular in America. Only in the past years they manage to claim a few states. Perhaps you haven't noticed, but Durham is an anarch city. That's why Astor won't bother going there to rescue his associates."

"I didn't see the difference," she mused, thinking back on Astor's grim house and the Hilton's speakeasy. It was hard to pick the worst of the two evils: the stuck-up bloodsucking jerk or the dissimulated undead whore.

"And what does that tell you?" he retorted with a cheeky smile. "I guess now you're properly educated. You may still have questions about the origin of this and that, but that's not for me. The past is for elders and ghosts."

She nodded absent-mindedly. She could see Stefan as the bucolic, apolitical type, while Damon would want to maintain his independence. But if even he felt the need to live by the creedo now, what were her chances without him? Astor was right about something - siring was a pretty serious deal.

She observed as he grabbed the bottle of wine to refill their glasses. He handed her the chalice back and his fingers lightly brushed against her knuckles, a tingle racing through their skin at the accidental touch.

A different kind of silence hung in the air around them, like a mist. She noticed he didn't try to dissipate it with a joke or a shrug. It was time to place their bets.

But not just yet. As they heard approaching footsteps, Damon rubbed the nape of his neck, his head hanging low. Caroline watched as he darted over to the door, pulling it open with a swing to find Stefan casually standing outside.

"Unbelievable," growled a very irritated Damon Salvatore, holding the door open with one arm, the wineglass in his other hand. His brother just stared back at him, his lips pursed in a sign of annoyance. Damon raised his eyebrows. "Do you _mind_?"

Stefan looked from Damon to Caroline, her cheeks covered with all shades of red.

"No, go crazy," he said, caustically.

"To what do I owe the dubious honour of this visit?" asked Damon, moving one pace to block Stefan's view of the interior.

Alaric came over to them, flipping his phone shut. "I told them we're not going back tonight," he said to Stefan, who nodded. Damon watched the exchange, raising an eyebrow. He didn't like the sound of it. Alaric then turned to him. "Can we have a word with you?"

"Anthropomorphic," was Damon's deadpan answer. "All yours."

Stefan gave a mirthless laughter and Damon rolled his eyes, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Caroline," Stefan called, in a slightly reproachful manner. After all, she could have called, instead of sending hostage-like messages. "We came here to check up on you-"

"Dial one and area code, 'cause that's a long distance call," she said, rising from the chair, her skin going back to its usual deadly hue. Stefan stared at her blankly and she smiled warmly. "I'm just kidding, don't be so serious."

"He can't help it," Damon said dryly. He moved to rest his glass on a desk, reluctantly leaving the wine he had personally chosen unfinished. "He was turned this way."

"Hey, Caroline." Alaric smiled tentatively. She knew it was ridiculous, but, under Alaric's close scrutiny, she quickly slid her glass on the table behind her back, out of his sight. He had been an authority figure in her life, after all. "Will you give us a minute?"

She shrugged. As Elena's name hadn't come up yet, she could tell everything was just fine in her hometown. She assumed they had probably just stopped by to give Damon a hard time for one reason or another. Likely, something to do with her sneaking around with him and whatnot. She didn't mind the attention, though. When she was, well, alive, nothing was ever about her, so finally a good change.

The teacher disappeared in the hallway and the brothers moved to follow him. Caroline let out a dramatic sigh. "To be me is to be left out."

Both Stefan and Damon glared at her. "Cheers," she took the glass again and lifted it in a mock toast, after their retreating backs. God help her if she was either to resist or conquer a genetically gifted, preternaturally skilled Salvatore type.

* * *

><p>"I would have thought compulsion was beneath you," Damon commented pointedly, as they walked down the hall. "How did you get past the front desk?"<p>

"The old-fashioned way," his brother replied. "We checked in."

"You could have just as easily announced yourself. So I could hang up on you again and maybe get the message across this time."

"Alright," said Alaric, placating, as they stepped outside in the front lawn. He picked up on the tension between the brothers. Stefan seemed to be pushing Damon purposefully, and Damon was putting up a defensive front from the start. Nobody was saying anything about a plague or the like and he was growing tired.

"Damon," Alaric spun around to face him. "What are you doing here?

"We know you're after something here, Damon." Stefan's tone was a bit more on the aggressive side. "But what do you need Caroline for?"

Damon's eyes hardened. His brother's words sent him back to the night before and shame wasn't a feeling Damon was used to. He averted his gaze and gave them a brief account of Therese's request and the blood disease, conveniently leaving out the encounter with Astor. He glared at Alaric when the latter pointed out that he was becoming quite the vampire slayer.

He also told them that Caroline needed some time off and that seemed as good an opportunity as any for her to improve her recently acquired unholy skills. So, he had no ulterior motive to bring her along. Perhaps because it was late, perhaps because Damon was able to colour his voice with enough sincerity, his distorted version of the facts convinced Alaric, who walked back to the car to get the rest of his stuff - mostly devices to ward off vampires that would make him very popular during the Inquisition.

They watched him stride through the fallen leaves and, as soon as he was out of earshot, Stefan's accusing eyes strayed back to Damon.

"You can't really expect me to believe that you have Caroline's welfare at heart."

"That much you two have in common."

Stefan didn't understand what his only brother was being so secretive about. In all honesty, after the third day he began to think he had just left for good without so much as a farewell. It wouldn't come as a surprise if the pressure of living among adolescent human beings caught up with him and sent him straight to the brink of insanity. But that was no excuse for ditching them without a heads up before going astray with a 17 year old inexperienced vampiress.

To add insult to injury, he sensed that, in so little time, Damon managed to shift Caroline's loyalty. She skipped hunting practice, lied to him and he had no idea what she was feeding on, even though he'd dare say that, by her looks, she was enjoying an excellent appetite.

"She doesn't get that you're not dependable." Stefan sighed.

"Are you her sire, now?" Damon's eyes had that special psycho gleam. "No, wait, _I_ am!"

"I care about Caroline. We all do. Now Bonnie and Elena are-"

Damon was tired of the same lecture. Of how he was such a bad influence, a manwhore and the bastard son of Satan. Like he could ever hurt her... on purpose, that is. Screw Stefan and Elena and Bonnie and the whole town.

"How about you take care of Elena and let me watch out for Caroline?"

"And what does that mean?" Stefan countered and the hint of a smirk graced his lips. "Don't lie to me, you know how I'm... _insightful_."

Damon froze on the spot and his face was suddenly void of emotion as he realised he had been played by his younger brother, whose green eyes sparkled with amusement. He had been eavesdropping on him and Caroline.

He stared at him, his mouth turning into a thin line. He looked just about to burst a vessel, until he finally moved, fishing for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket, muttering under his breath. "You're a fucking prick."

"I don't know about that," said Stefan, grinning openly now. He wouldn't just pass up the opportunity to get back at his brother and have the upper hand. So that was it. Damon did have a soft spot for the blonde. "Some people think I'm a righteous dude."

Damon just shook his head. "Knock it off, Bueller."

He dragged on the cigarette, shutting out his brother's presence. He blew the smoke in the freezing night air, waiting for the little white paper roll work its magic and restore his patience. He hadn't smoked in a while, but, in order to spend so much time alone with his blonde ex-fling, he thought he might need it.

It also came in handy to wipe Stefan's smirk off his face. He caught his brother's frown with the corner of his eyes when he casually puffed away their pointless argument, refusing to say any more.

Alaric fell into step beside them and took in Damon's bad mood.

"You know that alcohol and nicotine can only mask one problem at a time," he said.

A gust of wind blew across the nearby trees and carried a whisper to Damon's ears. His body tensed and he snapped his head in the direction of Caroline's room as he heard her call. _Damon_.

"Well, then," he said, crushing the lit end on the ground with his foot and walking back inside, "mask it, throw a cape on it and let it fight crime."

* * *

><p>Caroline had the dinner table removed, but she had grown too attached to the special wine to let half a bottle be taken away from her. She kept the booze and poured herself another generous glass, holding it while walking around the room, humming a pop song, trying to distract herself from stressing over what the hell was taking them so long. Even though they had been out for only 10 minutes or so, she was beginning to feel actually annoyed with the thought of being left out.<p>

She came to the desk near the door and her eyes zeroed in on random objects piled on top of it. Among the items, that included Damon's car keys and a hideous necklace, a simple white card with a red symbol printed on it struck her as oddly familiar. She shook her head. Her life was really messed up if she came to consider red shaped skulls as something familiar.

She squinted, slowly remembering where she'd seen it before. There was a similar draw in the flyers some guy was handing out near Astor's mansion the day before. Although Damon had pulled her away rather rudely at the occasion, she'd taken a good look at the scarlet paper and the very distinct white skull. What had the guy said then? _Come by when you're enlightened_.

She flipped the card between her fingers and saw the handwritten name. Nathaniel Curtis. That she didn't recall.

She called Damon in a clear, soft voice, certain that he would hear her if he was anywhere outside. For some reason, she felt like she could count on him to come through whenever she needed.

"Damon," she called again.

It took him less than a minute to rush inside the room, Stefan and Alaric in tow, a wave of concern passing over his face. Seeing as she was just fine, his slightly raised eyebrows and annoyed expression demanded to know what she wanted.

"I've seen this before."

She raised the card Therese had given him.

"Where?" asked Stefan, curiously.

Caroline glanced at him and Alaric and back at Damon. He gave her a warning glare, silently telling her not to spill anything about what happened in Astor's little soirée. She rearranged her thoughts.

"Some guy was handing out flyers in the street. Don't you remember?"

Barely. He remembered how she was stalling them outside Astor's house, so he just stared at her some more.

"Did he say anything to you?" Alaric inquired.

She told them about the short exchange with the mysterious man. All she remembered was that he had a very questionable sense of fashion.

"So, what are you thinking?" Damon actually asked her. It felt good to be in the loop.

"Definitely a cult or a club. I mean, enlightment? He was either talking about drugs or some sort of spiritual thing. And they have a permanent spot, because he said to drop by some time."

"Was he a vampire?" asked Stefan.

"I don't know, I don't think so. There were already so many vampires walking around, it was hard to tell."

"What? Why would there be that many vampires walking around?"

Damon's eyes widened, he looked like he wanted to ring her neck and Caroline's eyebrows knitted together. Perhaps he didn't remember he was the one at fault, and not her. Nevertheless, she tried to cover it up.

"Not real vampires, Stefan," she said, in a condescending tone. "More like a pack of goths and wannabes. Damon sure knows how to pick a diner."

Stefan looked confused for an instant, pretty unconvinced, but he decided to let it slide. Damon, on the other hand, looked like he had had enough. He rubbed his face.

"And now, we get off to sleep," he said, snatching the card back, before glaring at Alaric, who was deep in thought, and his brother. "Wherever."

As much as Caroline wanted to compare notes, if only to annoy Damon further, she wasn't up to prolonging that minefield of a conversation after the hectic last couple of days and the amount of wine she had just ingested, so she yawned on cue. Stefan finally cracked a smile at her.

"You have yet to tell us who's Nathaniel Curtis," he said to Damon.

"Tomorrow," mumbled Damon.

"Tomorrow bright and early," said Alaric, narrowing his eyes at the dark-haired vampire before waving her good night.

"Night, Caroline," said Stefan.

Both Stefan and Alaric seemed so eager to have fun with pestilence, she thought, dully. Although she, too, wanted to solve their little septicemic case, she had other things on her mind right now. Their situation had changed completely; she and Damon weren't by themselves anymore and she couldn't help but feel like they were surrounded by half of Mystic Fall's population. She watched as Damon left after the other two. Was he really going to pretend nothing happened between them, that he didn't kiss her – twice?

* * *

><p>She didn't find it in her to be mad. Maybe it was for the best, to keep her focused on her main goal, which was, well, survival. Caroline took a shower, slipped on a white little negligée and dragged herself to the large bed.<p>

Thirty minutes later, she was still staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything and anything. She'd read somewhere that, even after traumatic experiences, people rarely change. Vampires, specially, could be entirely unable to change over time, only becoming more fully what they already are. Who was she, then? Had Stefan always been like that, and Damon? She thought about him. She didn't understand why she'd grown to feel so at easy around him, when he had damaged her so badly before. But that was just it, she knew he would never do anything to hurt her again, at least not intentionally. She still asked herself where the hell all that conviction came from.

Very few people made her feel so safe, and he was one out of two that she knew would stick around for eternity. And the only one she felt attracted to. Damn. If she hadn't died that way, she'd muffle a groan with a pillow right now. They always say life's a bitch, until you die; but, then, she _died_, and turns out undeath isn't any easier. _In the very depths of Hell, do not demons love one another?*  
><em>

The crescent moon was high and its light seemed to colour the night with a shining blue hue, filtering through her window. Caroline shot up, grabbed her Ipod, threw a jacket over her shoulders and just sneaked out of the room.

She stepped outside of the Inn and looked around. It was chilly and quiet, with half a dozen cars parked outside, but not a single soul. She wandered in the lawn, noticing the woods within a stone's throw. The very thought of standing alone in a wood frightened her, its shadows and old trees closing all around her, a wood she might never get out of. Perhaps she was too much of a social person and belonged in the Masquerade society, after all.

Still, as a creature of the night, she'd become fond of the hours of darkness, specially the last hour just before dawn, that she watched at home, painting the sky in a different pastel tone each day. She strolled around in the back lawn and sat on a small bench under a young silver maple tree, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them. The night was magical, in its intangible shining indigo.

The heavy footsteps on the grass didn't startle her. She could always sense his nearing presence. She pulled out the earplugs and he just stood there, staring at her for a couple of minutes.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked slowly, folding his arms across his chest.

She shrugged. She wasn't doing anything, she just felt like staying awake outdoors, it was just kind of a mood lifter, to allow a night like that, without shadows, inexplicably peaceful, enfold her in its arms. She threw the question back at him.

"Cigarette," he said, showing her the packet. "Didn't get to finish it earlier."

She nodded and he just gazed at her. He knew for a fact that vampires didn't glimmer under the sun, but the pearly white moon shining above her serene figure made it seem as though her soft skin was glowing against the dim blue background. She resembled a fairy rather than a revenant.

He shook his head, snapping out of it. Marching over to the other end of the bench, he took a seat, shoving the cigarette pack back in his pocket. He did need to burn a drag right now, but she was just probably going to bitch him out about making her hair reek of smoke.

"Is death the greatest evil that can happen to anyone?" she asked him, quietly.

He stared at her. 72 hours and it still amazed him how she could pull shit like that out of nowhere. He chuckled in despite of himself.

"Death, as in final death? I can't think of anything worse."

"Even after all these years?" She glanced at him. "It must be lonely. Do you ever get the feeling that time is passing us by?"

"Time is on our side," he said, with finality. "You shouldn't even be thinking about that. As a human, you'd still have at least 60 years ahead of you anyway. You need to get over this post-transition depression crap."

"It's more like a post-transition stress," she said, her pink lips twitching in a grin to match the faint smile creeping up on his face. "But I guess I am over it. I let go of the guilt and I can't even grasp it anymore."

She was an inquisitive little thing, but he respected that. After turning, she was able to let go of many common prejudices and adjust to her new nature. She questioned many things out of shameless curiosity, like she didn't care if the answer would obliterate the question of herself. She wanted to learn, she want to adapt, she wanted to improve at what she was now. She had really crossed over.

He was in his room that night and everything seemed so empty. He found himself thinking of her, picturing her ever so vividly. He missed the disturbing comfort of her presence and it robbed him of his sleep. He left the room blindly, grabbing the cigarettes and lighter, and headed outside. He was surprised to find her already there.

She looked up at his face and he held her captive in his gaze. He pulled her to him and held her shivering form in his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder. They stayed like that, watching the clouds travel the sky, until the rising sun ripped its blue and every colour in between.

"You know you're not alone," he whispered, his mouth a breath's distance from hers.

* * *

><p>*From Anne Rice's <em>The Vampire Armand<em>. I totally disclaim it and everything else you recognize.


	6. Poetic Pitbull Revolutions I

**A/N:** I have been trying to finish this chapter since forever. I know I say this every time, but I am sorry for the delay.

I had to break the chapter in two because it was getting too long, but the good news is that I have most of the second part already written.

All in all, this chapter didn't turn out how I wanted, so I'm sorry if it completely sucks. I really tried =/ At least I can promise you I have a good idea of where this is going.

Thank you so much for the awesome response to the previous chapter. You guys are really kind and I was so happy to hear from you :)

* * *

><p><em>You used to be so amused<em>  
><em>At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Poetic Pitbull Revolutions (part I)<br>**

* * *

><p>After running on four hours of sleep the day before, Damon knew it probably wasn't the smartest idea to stay up all night, but somehow getting to hold her so closely and feel her smooth skin brush against his made up for the inevitable shitty mood he'd get in for the rest of the day.<p>

She leant her head back against his chest and, as his fingers ghosted over her arms and hands, her perfume filled the air - the distinguished aroma of jasmine, with a wooden note and a nightly feeling to it. It was very subtle, but extremely sexy, and it made him want to drag her back to his room and have his way with her.

The ungodly hours flew by and, before the sun hit the horizon, its weak light began to appear amidst the morning fog, bathing the sky in a soft yellow hue. Caroline disengaged herself from his embrace, arching her body like a cat on a stretch, and they quietly made their way back inside.

His eyes were trained on her back as she turned to open the door of her room, admiring the curves beneath the sheer negligée. She twisted the knob and pushed it open, setting her Ipod on a desk, and spun around to bid him goodbye, only to be met with his blatant and intense gaze. A strong shiver ran down her spine and she couldn't bring herself to formulate a coherent sentence as he tugged her arm and easily pulled her to him.

She considered taking a step back to prevent their mouths from colliding, her eyes from fluttering shut and her body from melting against his. Within seconds, however, all thoughts of resistance faded away in a cloud of lust and she found herself inexplicably unable to move as his arms encircled her waist and he bent down to pepper light kisses along her neck.

Her head lolled to the side to give him better access, her hands wandering down his chest, over the inconvenient fabric of his shirt, as he slowly explored her body through the thin nightdress. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he slid a hand across the back of her thigh, his mouth following a trail up to her chin to capture her lips in a searing kiss.

She nipped at his bottom lip as they stumbled inside the gloomy room. He pinned her against a wall in a flash and slid the jacket off her shoulders, tossing it on the floor and shutting the door behind them.

He felt a sharp pierce on his lip and the faint taste of his own blood invaded his mouth. A pleased growl escaped from his throat as their tongues intertwined and she was stunned by her own boldness. His blood poured forth, like the sweetest gush of life that had ever run over her lips.

It wasn't until his hands travelled down to caress the bare skin underneath her skirt that an alarm went off in her brain, flashing a neon red _danger_ sign in the forefront of her mind.

She broke the kiss as quickly as it began, gulping down the oxygen they didn't really need. Her eyes strayed to his smouldering ones, blue as the mist outside, and her thumb traced his swollen lips.

Pulling back an inch, he saw the desire flare up in her eyes and the corner of his mouth lifted upwards. He wasn't one to beat around the bush. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew that much: he _wanted_ her.

Her nude pink lips were still slightly parted as he tucked a strand of silky blonde hair behind her ear. It sure was a good thing that pretty girls would always hang together and Elena's best friend happened to be this hot. That made things easier then, and harder now. Much _harder_.

"We need to talk," she breathed. Talk was far from what he had in mind, but he actually saw that coming. He could only keep her mouth shut for so long. His eyes, glinting with mischief, swept over her, studying her dishevelled figure.

After they split up, the subsequent shit led him to think that any link between them had been permanently severed. Sure he was her sire, but that'd been a fucked up accident. Thereafter, he did nothing but betray her trust and the flicker of hatred in her eyes every time they met his left him with a feeling of complete alienation - repelled by Katherine and hated by Vampire Barbie. Forsaken.

He snapped out of it one night, when he learnt she was yet again in danger, being held against her will by the Lockwoods's pussy friends. Why had no one thought about telling _him_? He was the only one who got things done around there. The responsibility of being her maker was beginning to sink in and he decided he would be damned if he let her share Rose's fate. They _should_ have told him earlier. If anything, it was downright inconsiderate.

He brought down as many wolves as he could, at the expense of his own blood and bones, which turned out to matter very little at the sight of her, battered and bleeding. It was like his berserk button had just been pressed, making his skin crawl. He was mad at her for going to his cattle sucker of a brother for tutoring, turning into an easy prey for a werewolf pack, and he was mad at himself for leaving her no other options. Right then, he'd like to grab her and yell enough profanities to shake her to the core, if that would disencourage her to _ever_ lounge about with traitorous beasts again.

But all reprimands would have to wait. He had Stefan and Elena to back off and give her space to speed the healing, and took it upon him to keep an eye on her. Eventually, watching her turned into an entertaining pastime, dissolving any thoughts of brutality.

She was clearly troubled by the very concept of endlessness, trapped between an overwhelming fear of loneliness and the ineffable pleasure of corruption. Even though by that time he believed her existence could only be justified by artistic purposes - for what was art but the worship of beauty? -, he slowly realised he had never known an unearthly creature so like him as Caroline. Intrepid, insubordinate and precise. _The queenliest dead that ever died so young_, to quote Edgar Allan Poe. He wondered if that was when he first awoke to the nature of his feelings for her.

Now, he didn't have to worry about her anymore. She'd completed transition, moving past the senseless grief to welcome the upside of immortality, and his job was done. He couldn't help being slightly proud, but it also changed everything. She didn't need him anymore and he wouldn't have any obligations to her when the week ended, just like he predicted.

"I was trying to show you how much I approved of the guilt-free speech you gave last night," he drawled in a husky rasp.

She really needed to get a hold of her hormones, or whatever chemical thing that rushed through her dead body and wiped off all common sense from her mind. She knew from experience that getting carried away only worked to the guy's advantage and she refused to engage in unprofitable activities.

"I meant coming to grips with the fact that I'm cursed with awesome, not hopping right into bed with you," she replied coyly, resting her palms on his covered chest as his fingertips grazed over her shoulders, easing one strap of her airy garment.

He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. "If you say so," he muttered, highly amused. "You want to talk, then whisper away."

He gestured towards the ceiling and smirked. She knew they couldn't talk when Stefan's privileged hearing could tune in conversations within a mile. But he had to know that meant they couldn't do anything else either. And he _did_. What a teaser. She rolled her eyes and his face broke into that psychotic trademark smirk of his.

If Caroline could be compelled, Damon would have no doubts as to which would be his command. _Say you want me_. They couldn't rely on outside forces or supernatural coincidences to provide them excuses to stick around each other anymore. From then on, it would have to be their choice.

He stared at her firmly, trying to convey his feelings, but she sustained his gaze in silence. She'd said she didn't blame him anymore for their tempestuous relationship, but perhaps it wasn't completely true. Was she trying to punish him for his misbehaviour by making him put himself out there when she wasn't giving anything?

"As much as I love the smell of cosmetics in the morning, I'll let you perform your girly rituals while I go check on Tweedledum and Tweedledee upstairs," he said, breaking the minute long stare. "We'll call you when we're ready." Not to mention a cold shower would be a treat right now.

She was confused and disappointed. She needed to know where they stood, but it looked as though he was trying to evade that conversation. She should have just poured her thoughts to him when she had the chance. Yeah, right, because her problem was not being outspoken _enough_.

"Right," she answered distractedly. "Make sure you get back to me when you finish scheming and plotting. I'm done with the protective lies, or lies of any kind, for that matter."

Regardless of the dangerous situations they'd gotten themselves in and the occasional argument, the last couple of days had been interesting. Now that they expanded into a fellowship, she didn't want to feel like the sidekick that slows everyone down.

"It may come as a surprise, but keeping you oblivious and well fed is not my top priority," he said, his words laced with cynicism.

Caroline stiffened and inhaled sharply, as if she had been hit by the arctic blast. Was he implying that he couldn't be less concerned with her safety or peace of mind? "No, that would be Stefan. Don't worry, I'd never mistake you for the good brother."

And there she goes, pressing another perilous button of his. He took a step back and dropped his hands to his sides, leaving an empty space before her. A brittle silence came down as Caroline's stomach dropped. She didn't know what possessed her to say something so mean. It was the sexual frustration speaking for her.

Her eyes followed as he walked to the door, placing an indolent hand over the knob. He turned to her, looking sombre. "About Curtis," he said, in a glacial tone. "He's an architect, a Gimghoul member and a centuries' old vampire. He designed the headquarters of the Order in the 1920s and he's been living there ever since."

A vampire's home is his castle. That was something she thought she'd only see in some far off land in Scotland or Transylvania. She cast about her mind frantically for something to say.

"Is he the dangerous kind?"

"Not to me," he replied dryly, before adding, quietly: "He used to be somewhat of a friend."

"Just checking the credentials, the last one was a package of snotty evil," she said, defensively. _Just like you_, she had to refrain herself from adding. She had no idea where those nasty thoughts were coming from. "But you still think he has something to do with the disease?"

He shrugged, swinging the door open and inviting in a sudden draft, cutting like a razor. "Something's going on around here."

_Gee, can you vague that up?_ she thought. His detached gaze rested on her and she instantly knew she'd blown it. Releasing a heavy sigh, her eyes shut off. Her head was starting to feel heavy with doubts. She asked herself how she had gone from struggling to be his friend to wanting them to be more than he did.

"Damon-" she started unsure, opening her eyes to find an empty room.

* * *

><p>Caroline stripped out of her nightdress and stepped into the shower. Turning the hot water on full blast, she let it pour over her body, unsuccessfully trying not to think about Damon in such a private, liberating moment.<p>

Rolling down with the water drops, a wave of regret washed over her as she recalled the sad comparison she'd made between the brothers. It was vicious and so unlike her, something that would easily flow out of Katherine's mouth, not hers; something she _knew_ would make Damon mad as a hatter, if his jealousy of his brother in the last few days was any indication.

Then again, she had taken worse from him, he couldn't possibly hold that one thing against her. The water soaked her tender muscles and she closed her eyes, trying to rinse off the tension.

"Where have you been?" Alaric's voice came from afar. "Can't you go by a night without draining to failure the still beating heart of a virgin?"

"You think you're so funny, don't you?" came Damon's flat response and the sound of a door shutting. Their voices died down, muffled by walls of distance and the shower spray.

She shook her head, smiling to herself. For such a destructive creature, he had one too many friends.

_You're not alone_, his whispers echoed in her mind. He had been so sweet and understanding and she had just snapped at him for what? A snide remark she would normally brush off.

They'd spent an amazing night together, if only he didn't feel the need to revert to his jerky self afterwards. If only he would exercise his rudeness toward others, but her (it was fun to watch on the sidelines). If only he'd be less annoying and stop kissing and teasing her whenever he saw fit, like he had every right to.

He was all in for the chase, full of himself, seemingly fearless, stirring up feelings she had long buried. As much as she wanted to cave in to her own desires, she wouldn't accept his unfeeling treatment without talking back. That's why she thought it was extremely unfair that, carrying a nonbeating heart, she'd still feel her chest tighten at the plaintive look on his face when he left.

Involuntarily, she trailed a wet index over her mouth, where his extraordinarily palatable blood flowed richly moments before. It had been an ecstatic and intimate experience and her disloyal body ached for more.

She finished her shower and walked into the bedroom with a cotton towel wrapped around her, her hair held in a messy bun. She dug in her bag for a change of clothes when there was a knock on the door. She got dressed in vampire speed and rushed to the living room, hoping against hope that it was Damon. She wanted to set things right with him, even if it meant sinking as low as to apologize to him.

_So much for the power of positive thinking_. The air didn't displace around her and she couldn't feel his presence enveloping her in a way that even if she was blind she'd still see him. It wasn't him.

In any case, she couldn't very well pretend she wasn't there, so she cautiously pulled the door open to reveal Stefan's figure leaning against the opposite wall in the corridor, rubbing his eyes. He smiled lazily and she grinned, inviting him in. He teased her about the mess she'd made in the room in so little time and she playfully glared at him.

He took a seat in the living area and she settled in front of an antique French mirror to apply her make-up. He had a mug of steaming coffee between his hands and she saw his cheeks gain a natural heat. She suddenly realised it had been almost a day since she'd drunk any blood, except for Damon's first-rate droplets. Inspecting her reflection in the mirror, her eyes flickered to disguise the subtle traces of hunger.

Stefan didn't miss her weary manner. He furrowed his brow, looking honestly concerned.

"Caroline, do you want to talk?" he asked.

She glanced up and gave him a tight smile. Funny how Damon wouldn't sit down and talk to her when Stefan made it seem so easy. But there was really no comparison between the two of them. Stefan was her friend, Elena's boyfriend, brooding and easygoing. Damon was her sex on legs ex-boyfriend, a malevolent vampire, who had just kissed her senseless.

"Caroline?"

She hesitated almost imperceptibly. "How's everyone?"

"Fine. Worried about you. Worried about you coming here with Damon," he answered truthfully. "So, how did you like the metropolitan vampire scene?"

"It's great, feels like we're all connected to the same powerful, all consuming evil," was her sarcastic reply.

"You know you can tell me anything," he said soothingly. "The good, the bad, the bloody."

"I'm sorry about bailing town. It's just that- I needed an escape and Damon offered me just that."

Stefan sat there quietly, entranced by the movement of her delicate hands as they aptly went through a number of products at display. He didn't want to interrupt her reticent speech.

"Sometimes," she said, "dealing with him is like staging a full-scale 90 miles per hour train wreck. Without the laughs."

"That seems... uh, avant-garde," Stefan commented, for lack of a more appropriate observation.

"There's so much to work through," she continued. "Trust to be built again on both sides."

Her insecurities were coursing through her veins like a rushing river, he could tell. For some reason, she cared for her conflicted maker and it seemed that the feeling could be mutual. Damon had always been at odds with everyone, but he chose to have her by his side because he found comfort in their similarities.

"Damon spent over a hundred years obsessed with the woman who caused our demise," he said, significantly. "It was not only a form of self-hatred, but it was easy to love an illusion, someone that wasn't even there. He's stepping out of his comfort zone for the first time now."

"He makes me doubt myself, Stefan," she calmly protested. "I wonder if I'm a masochist for trusting him again."

She felt slightly embarrassed for sharing with him feelings that she had not yet figured out, but it had been so long since she had someone other than Damon to confide in. Even back at home. She needed a friend.

"Don't," he said simply. "Don't question yourself."

"I'm glad that I came." She sighed, finishing her eyes with the last swipes of the mascara wand. "Truth be told, Mystic Falls can be a little too much at times. What with the recurrent poisoning and impalements."

"Considering you're immune to putrefying diseases, I'd say it's a lot safer here," said Alaric, waving at the doorway.

"The perks of being dead," she quipped, resting the used lipstick.

"Damon's checking out," Alaric told them. "He's moody and biting today, more so then usual, and says we're late."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Surely, Damon couldn't be avoiding her, could he? He certainly was a 171 years old immature son of a-

Stefan stood up. "I want to exchange a few words with him before we go," he told Caroline.

"Go ahead. I'll catch a ride with Mr. Sal- Alaric," she said.

Stefan looked at her quizzically, but she just set her jaw, folding her arms over her chest. The teacher spared her a glance with the corner of his eyes and nodded his agreement. He wasn't sure of what was going on between Caroline and Damon, or how he felt about their abyssal age difference, but he knew it wasn't the right time to ask questions, and he'd rather direct them to Damon.

Stefan shook his head. Her stubbornness could give Damon a run for his money. He was out of the room when Caroline took out the pins that held her hair, allowing it to flow around her shoulders and down her back, and turned to Alaric.

"So, he's already outside?" she asked, trying to conceal any vestiges of anxiety in her voice. "He must be really looking forward to start the day with a slaughter."

"It's like he's swallowed the Book of all Knowledgefulness. He thinks he's some kind of leader, as in 'follow the'," Alaric grumbled. She flashed a sympathetic smile and he returned it, leaving after Stefan.

Caroline managed to stuff her fashionable collection of clothes in the duffel bag, zipping it up and dragging it out the room. A bellhop helpfully materialized and swung the dark blue bag over his shoulder, following her outside.

She took in the breathtaking view of the woods under daylight, a thick line of mist winding atop the grass. The murmur of the summer foliage came soothingly on her ears in the quiet of the dull morning.

Gradually, she detected the sounds of a private conversation led by familiar voices. Asking the uniformed man to wait, she walked around the manor, lingering against a wall until she spotted Damon and Stefan, engaged in a hushed conversation. A ray fell on the older brother's features, and she caught a glimpse of his deep-set eyes, and there was no doubt as to his ferocious disposition.

"You say 'controlling a pandemic disease' and I hear 'unleashing hordes of Armageddon'. You're a big Pandora's box... of surprises," said Stefan. Although his back was turned to her, she could feel his voice vibrate with sarcasm.

Damon rolled his eyes. "I assure you it won't affect either yours or Elena's life, so chill the fuck out."

"And what about Caroline?"

"What about her?" growled Damon, and Caroline held her breath, her hands gripping the wall. _Yes, Damon, what about me?_ "You keep bringing that up. Here's an idea: take her back home with you and we're all set."

Caroline scowled furiously. Her face tinged with red as his words set her whole complexion in a blaze.

* * *

><p>To be continued...<p> 


	7. Poetic Pitbull Revolutions II

**A/N:** Hey, guys. So this is part II. I wanted to polish it some more, but at the same time I didn't want to make you wait.

I can't thank you enough for your amazing reviews, your thoughts and words keep me going. And, please, forgive me if this chapter as a whole is lacking a bit.

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><p><em>You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat<em>  
><em>Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat<em>  
><em>Ain't it hard when you discover that<em>  
><em>He really wasn't where it's at<em>  
><em>After he took from you everything he could steal.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Poetic Pitbull Revolutions (part II)<strong>

* * *

><p>Caroline inwardly debated if she should go there and give them a piece of her mind, although the risk of slapping Damon soundly was prominent. Averting her gaze, she sneaked back to the other extreme of the property, where the bellhop awaited, ignoring the ongoing argument behind her.<p>

She saw Alaric open the trunk of a white Chevrolet Tahoe, shoving a few work tools' inside (which, Caroline grimaced, included a type of bow and a muzzle. She made a mental note to never cut school again).

"There you are," he said when she approached the vehicle. "I couldn't find Damon or Stefan."

"Well," she managed to get out, grinding her teeth. "They're fighting over territory. I was thinking we could go ahead and call them on the way."

"We could, but Damon is our contact."

"If you know the way," she continued, turning on moderate whiny mode, "I'd rather wait there. It's a _castle_ and I have the right to sightsee."

"Besides," she drawled, "we're already late. Chances are we might arrive just in time to prevent the impending apocalypse."

"Really?" he beamed sardonically. "You're not just saying that?"

She stared at him with pleading eyes and he wavered. He first knew her as an enthusiastic student, who always managed to keep her spirits high and her tongue going while involved in every single school activity at which she could excel. But, sometimes, when caught off guard, Caroline Forbes - head cheerleader, student council vice president and head of the prom committee, - didn't look so poise.

Vampirism seemed to have projected all of her insecurities and the girl looked really lost for weeks. But time, or Damon Salvatore, apparently took care of it. The Caroline standing in front of him seemed renewed, wiser, stronger. And angrier, too. He couldn't blame her for rebelling against their patronizing treatment and for not wanting to be left behind.

"You really don't want to go with Damon, do you?" he asked knowingly, before finally complying. "Let's just keep supernatural activity to a minimum, okay?"

_You do that_, she thought, while nodding sheepishly. She made her way to the passenger side, throwing her bag in the backseat before he changed his mind.

* * *

><p>The day set in misty and cold and a shade of grey replaced the normally green scenery. Caroline stared out the car window as the overcast sky appeared to be descending upon the blur of houses and gardens that slid by. The usual glint in her eyes gave way to a dreamy and melancholy softness and she dropped any attempts at small talk as she began to feel oppressed with a heavy foreboding of danger.<p>

She could sense Alaric stiffen to her left. He was probably regretting having accepted her reckless suggestion. She felt bad for him, but she had to get the hell away from Damon at least for half an hour to reorganize her thoughts. It'd be a bonus if she could show him that she had free will and he couldn't push her around. She wasn't going back to Mystic Falls just yet.

In any case, she didn't want to jeopardise Damon's plan, if he in fact had one. They were going to take a look around and that was it.

Ever since they got in the car, Alaric kept checking his phone, but the signal was too weak to make a call. Caroline took pity on his frustration and almost felt the urge to pat him on the back, but she couldn't bring herself to care very much.

She threw him a sideways glance. He was a good person, smart, resourceful and cute, with all due respect, and, as she listened to the low, quick beating of his heart, it occurred to her that it must be enormous, considering he had not only forgiven Damon, but befriended him after everything he pulled. Then again, Damon had that effect on people.

The road narrowed to a steep path and they drove through a curtain of hedges and ivy until a round tower appeared amidst the trees and the impressive structure of the castle came within sight. Alaric killed the engine on the side of the road, near the property's edge, and they jumped out, bewildered by the medievalesque cut-out in front of them.

As soon as they were able to tear their gaze from the solitary fortress standing among the sullen trees, they turned their attention to the unfriendly signage surrounding the area.

"_Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again_," Alaric recited, staring at a sign. "They're a bit extreme."

"You think?" she pointed at another sign. "_If you can read this, you're in range_."

"It's quite the anthology."

He looked around, noticing the blue Camaro was still nowhere to be seen. He punched Stefan's number on his phone and swung it around in the hopes of finding reception.

"Stupid dead zone."

_It's only fitting_, Caroline thought, holding back a laugh as she watched his agitation. She wasn't eager to face the brothers, because she hadn't decided what to do about Damon. She wouldn't leave him all alone to solve the Camarilla situation, even if it was his fault in the first place, and, as much as she wanted, she couldn't give him the cold shoulder for the remainder of their quest. She wouldn't go back to Mystic Falls with things unresolved, so they'd have to sort things out, somehow.

She looked around, scanning the site, as Alaric marched back to the car, pressing the phone to his ear and swearing under his breath. It amused her to think that he'd turn a very bright shade of red if reminded that she could hear everything. She was shaking her head softly when a powerful smell of blood reached her nose. What the hell.

She snapped her head towards the grove where the metallic smell hung in the air, sharpening her senses. _Fee-fi-fo-fum_. She was vaguely aware that the road was becoming more and more distant as she followed a path that led to the Castle. Suddenly, there were a dozen soft sounds all around her, whispering and sighing. The feeling was eerie and enticing, and she found herself walking further.

_Come see as the wind chant, I let thee come in_. She heard a voice singing behind her, so close that it made her jump. She looked over her shoulder, her face transfigured with protruding fangs and bulging veins, but there was no one there.

The voices finally ceased and she commanded a disobedient part of her not to walk a step more. The fog was thicker there and the trees were so closely planted that the sunlight could not penetrate. There was no way she'd find the trail back to the main road in the cloud of mist.

Breathing feebly, she felt she was under an optical illusion as the trees seemed to grow larger and larger before her eyes. The effects of the uncanny trance dissipated and she was now very conscious of the shadowy spot where she stood.

"Oh, crap," she muttered. She couldn't believe she had just been lured to the very place she should stay clear of. The woods.

"Who's there?" a voice rang strongly. She heard the dry leaves crunch under their steps.

She widened her eyes expectantly, feeling her facial expression change to one of dread and sending silent prayers to the void. She was too young to die, again.

A figure stepped out of the cloud of mist. A handsome man, dark and swarthy, with bloodshot eyes and a furtive way of avoiding her glance. There was blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Thank goodness, it was just a vampire.

* * *

><p>Damon's eyes keenly ran over every car parked outside the inn, looking for Alaric's white monstrosity. His hearing sense was equally acute as he heard anything in the earth and many things from hell, but not her voice. He sent a rapid glance to his brother, who had been repeatedly calling both the human and Caroline, still unable to reach either of them, when his own cell phone rang.<p>

"Where are you?" Damon asked, dangerously low, getting in the car with Stefan, whose green eyes sparkled in alert.

Alaric's upset voice explained that he had been trying to call them for almost twenty minutes, but the signal was too weak on the road and he had to walk a good sixty feet from the Castle gates to get service. All was quiet and normal until they were engulfed in the weirdest fog, which dispersed as quickly as it had settled in. He couldn't find Caroline anywhere.

At that point, Damon hit the gas, letting loose a string of curses with such vehemence that Stefan thought it'd make Christian Bale blush.

"When I find Caroline, I'm gonna lock her in a tomb," he said, shutting off the phone after instructing Alaric to stay where he was.

"She's immune to physical diseases," Stefan reminded him, although he looked taciturn himself.

There was no response to that. Damon tried to focus on the road as dreadful visions flooded his thoughts. He kept imagining Caroline wandering alone in a darksome growth of trees, being followed or hunted, knowing that a slip of the foot meant death. All because she was an eavesdropping brat that, instead of yelling at him, decided to scare him straight like that.

He knew she had been listening to his conversation with Stefan and didn't mean to piss her off, but he was just out of it. He'd have to take anger management classes someday, because, normally, snapping his interlocutor's neck was his way of dealing with unpleasant conversations. Since he couldn't do that to _her_, flipping his lid was the only alternative. What was her problem, anyway? Hasn't she got almost-killed enough?

"She's developed the most irrational fear of forests, bosks, Japanese gardens, you name it," he said. "She can't roam alone in Battle Park of all places."

In despite of his derisive intonation, Stefan was secretly pleased that Damon was aware of Caroline's anguish. He surveyed his brother briefly, noticing that his knuckles were as white as paper with the way he gripped the wheel.

"She'll be fine," Stefan murmured to himself like a mantra.

"You don't know that," Damon hissed. If anything happened to her, like it did last time, hell wouldn't match his fury.

"Stop torturing yourself," said Stefan. "We're going to rescue Caroline and then, then you two can go back to torturing one another."

Damon took a deep breath and closed his eyes for only a second, but this time there was no mistake about it. His tense posture betrayed how badly the blonde neonate affected him. He had never looked so vulnerable since his mortal days.

"I didn't answer you before because it's not your damn problem," Damon began, so low that Stefan almost didn't hear. "But I won't ever harm Caroline. When this is over, she's not dropping out of school or running away. I _know_ her and I know she's not ready to leave Mystic Falls. You don't have to tell me that."

"I know you're trying to help her-"

"When you died, did you suffer a brain injury?" Damon snapped. "Of course I'm trying to help her. I have to, what with you being so inefficient at the job. What did you think, that I brought her here for the whole road-trip bonding thing?"

It was true. Through the thick and thin, he only wanted to protect her. Every night she cried in her pillow, he knew. He knew when she was happy, when she was hurt, he could always tell when her smile was forced. It was more than he could say about any other woman, but it wasn't enough. She deserved more, she demanded more.

He wanted to save her, to hold her, to hold on to her, yet he only succeeded in destroying her. He earned her low opinion of him and the more he tried to change it the more he pushed her away. She was too damn complicated.

He felt a burn in his eyes and wondered if they were reflecting the anger that was working through his system.

"She looked miserable this morning," Stefan said. "I don't know what she did to inflame your propensity to screw things up, but she _cares_ about you."

"_She_ told me off," Damon retorted, belligerently. "Apparently, it bothers her that I am not _good_, as she put it, like I'm damaged or something."

"After everything you've done, if that's all she said, you've got off light," said the younger brother, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're too caught up in the past to see what's in front of you. She's not Katherine, she's a different person, and you... you've changed."

Damon pursed his lips, feeling his brother's words sooth over him like fresh human blood. He swallowed hard, unwilling to let go of the rage.

"And you give all these really great insights for free," he sneered.

"You two are retarded for each other," grumbled Stefan.

Damon pulled the car over right behind the white SUV, where Alaric was waiting for the arrival of the dark cavalry. By Damon's reaction over the phone, he didn't expect them to take any longer to get there. It was no secret that the dead travel faster.

* * *

><p>"You didn't come here with one of those tourist groups, did you? Like, in a coach and all?"<p>

Caroline found herself standing in the middle of an old-fashioned office with broad black beams across the ceiling. The walls were adorned with all kinds of ancient weapons and the furniture was so dusty that, if she wasn't already dead, her allergies would have killed her.

She was still inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, releasing the dread from her lungs. She turned to the man, who was throwing his jacket over a couch and wiping the blood off his mouth with a handkerchief. She didn't know his name and she didn't trust him, but knew better than put up a fight when he offered refuge in the stone castle.

"A coach? Of course not," Caroline shrieked. "I picked up on the smell of your meal. And then I heard a song, a canticle," she murmured pensively. "It was - throbbing, like blood."

The voices drew her to the clearing, whispering like the wind, and when she looked back she couldn't see anything beyond five feet in the solid fog.

"You were under an Incantation," he explained, as though it was common knowledge.

"Are there witches around here?" she asked, summoning her logic to fit the pieces together. What a fancy name for a spell.

He shrugged. "Witches, vampires, werewolves, and I could swear I once saw a goblin climbing up a tree."

"You're making fun of me," she said, glaring at him.

He confirmed her accusation with a smirk, and then spoke more seriously: "I remember you."

At her blank expression, he went on. "I saw you in Charlotte a few nights ago. I invited you to join our Brotherhood."

_Are you enlightened, sister?_ Caroline gawked at him as her mind restored the memory of a dark man with a bucket hat handing out flyers on the street. Young, like a college student. Like the man staring at her, his face lit up like the Fourth of July. "I knew you were a believer."

Before she could reply, he continued: "I'm going to take a shower now. I reek of rodents. When I come back, I'll introduce you to the others."

Left alone in that unclean chamber, Caroline continued with her breathing exercise. Now that her idea of a doomsday cult behind the plague had been proved right, she wouldn't describe herself as thrilled so much as shit-scared.

She needed to get it together, though. She probably knew more than he'd give her credit for, considering her foolish behaviour, and, according to both her grandmother and Donald Trump, knowledge is power. For instance, she knew that man wasn't Nathaniel Curtis. She'd googled the name and would never forget his ridiculous little moustache. Where was he, anyway? And, more importantly, where was everybody else? Hasn't Damon said they were late? Nevermind that she'd strayed away for a bit; she was exactly where they were supposed to be.

Her eyes darted over to several notebooks and manuscripts spread on an old writing desk. A ventilating current, coming from a small arch window, fluttered the pages of a leather covered journal at intervals. She lifted it, perusing the ornamented cover. Opening up to a random page, she gaped at the yellow sheets, filled with wrought verses handwritten in fine calligraphy.

Onto the paper scribe I the words that fro my heart move -  
>With every dight letter, with the ebb of ink,<br>The point of the quill my penmanship doth mirror,

An inscription near the edge of the page dated the poem to the 18th century and the rest of the manuscripts appeared to be just as old. _Vampire diaries, _she surmised. With some perplexity, she turned the page, mouthing the last stanza.

Tales of theft and adultery,  
>Tales of devilment and witchery-<br>Tales of me.

A shadow covered the book and she glanced up to find a woman hardly standing by the doorframe. Dressed in a loose grey tunic, she looked emaciated and a greenish tone claimed most of her skin. She had dark blue circles under her eyes and Caroline almost jumped back in astonishment when her shaky voice echoed in the room.

"Get out of here," urged the stranger. "Before it's too late. Only the dead can enter this house."

Caroline thought perhaps her jaw dropped slightly as she continued to stare at the woman in front of her. She had never seen someone so debilitated before. She unconsciously stepped forward, ready to hold her as her body didn't seem capable of supporting its weight any longer.

"What have they done to you?"

"They have taken me. They have taken the best of me. And left nothing, but a shell..."

"Er, you should really sit down-"

Caroline extended a tentative hand to steady the sick girl and watched in horror as the other's eyes became dark as a vulture's and her face contorted freakishly. Her own blood ran cold when those decomposing pitchy orbs fell upon her and, presto, the woman's mouth closed on her hand. Caroline withdrew it rapidly, just a second away from losing a finger.

"Unholy shit!" she cried. "Did you just try to _bite_ me?"

The zombie-like woman growled and invested against her blindly.

"Stop it or you will regret it," Caroline warned, inspecting her hand worriedly. The response was a louder growl.

Caroline gulped as the stench of the virus now impregnated the room. "I'm telling you, this is _not_ gonna be pretty. We're talking violence, strong language, adult content-"

The creature advanced, dragging its feet across the floor, and raising a hand much like a claw. Caroline hissed, dodging the filthy fingernails, and jumped backwards up to the ceiling, just in time to see her adversary smash a bookshelf behind her.

Caroline narrowed her eyes, red circles defining the irises as her face exhibited a crazing of veins, framed by waves of blonde hair dangling downwards. She desperately looked around for an exit, thinking now was a good opportunity for Damon to burst in and rescue her. Otherwise, she guessed she'd be learning a very important lesson on relationships: poor communication _kills_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2:** The poem Caroline finds in the journal is actually an excerpt of a Theatre of Tragedy song called _Bacchante_.  
>There's also a reference to Bürger's ballad <em>Lenore<em> here somewhere, to match the quotation from Poe's poem _Lenore_ in the first installment. Irrelevant, I know, I just really love the ballad, haha.

So, they have a mission within a mission to accomplish, but they're getting there. And they _will_ get to finally talk to each other about their feelings soon enough :) It might be asking too much, but I'd love to hear what else you guys would like to see next.

Thanks so much for reading!


	8. Gunpowder Chant

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review. The response to the previous chapters was overwhelming and knowing what you like about it is always helpful and inspiring. I really can't thank you enough.

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><p><em>Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse<em>  
><em>When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose<em>  
><em>You're invisible now, you've got no secrets to conceal.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Gunpowder Chant<strong>

* * *

><p>Church bells chimed in the distance as Damon stood in silence before the revival castle, oblivious to the distinct voices behind him. He had seen countless castles and follies in his day, but 705 Gimghoul Rd looked like an ode to another era in his existence, a time when he used to explore the region, trying to wring answers from the unknown, mystified by the world and its enigmas. He was already scarred then, but young enough to be alive, and the entire world was different.<p>

He thought he would never forget the indescribable preternatural things that swanned about a place which had always belonged to the dead. Yet, as the years passed by, living among the damned, he hadn't given a thought about that portion of his past. Being a vampire was the ultimate irony. Not only the expression "appetite for life" gained a completely new meaning, but living forever didn't improve one's memory in the least.

Spanning years and continents obsessed with all things detrimental to his mental health, he witnessed history unravel before his eyes without much interest. Until one unbalanced girl subverted his apathy.

A bitchy cheerleader back from dead, of all people. She became the walking proof that no darkness was broad enough to extinguish the ability to nurture affection and loyalty. Annoying, indeed. But, at the end of the day, no one could blame him for admiring her passion and contradictions and her refusal to accept suffering as their fate.

After transition, he had never felt connected to anyone, in any time, until she slowly worked her way into his mind. And that's why his indulging reminiscences didn't last but a moment. He had a vampire doll to rescue.

He glanced up again at the building that sat on the grounds of his past, and wondered if he'd have to tear it down before dusk. Because he would, if he had to.

Alaric and Stefan froze in expectation, noticing his quiet manners. Damon gave instructions faster than they could process them, and strode towards a path that led down to a hidden garden, choked by evergreens and dogwood and backed by the extent of Battle Woods. Along the outer edge of the yard ran a low stone wall near which stood a grey-haired figure with a dark cloak over his shoulders.

The morning light was still so weak that the entire place looked pale and ghostly and Stefan started back with what he saw, or thought he saw: the man was vigorously driving a spade into the ground with his foot, digging a hole that looked very much like a grave.

The trio came to a halt a few steps from the grave-digger and Stefan realized that the grave was destined to accommodate wildflowers that were lying on the turf.

"Damon Salvatore?" barked the man, looking at them with the corner of his eyes. "What brings you here, after so long?"

"Hmm. Let's see," Damon answered, tapping his chin and pretending to think. "That'd be the smell of infection."

The elder man produced a sharp click with his tongue and rested his hands on the T-shaped handle of the shovel. He wore a silver beaded necklace, filled to the limit with a myriad of different pieces, which Damon recognized as mementos of especially savage kills.

Gold brown eyes rested upon him with a demented twinkle and Damon was taken aback by his decrepitude. Granted, the man's features were unchanging, but he resembled an elderly human being whose days were counted, rather than the vicious vampire he met on campus some 110 years ago.

"Nunc manus Dei punientis pestilentiam etiam agentem apportavit," the stranger stated solemnly.

Damon sneered, but there was no spite in his words when he spoke. "A little help out here? I don't speak loser."

He turned to his companions, eyebrows disappearing behind his dark hair. "If I actually had time for introductions, I swear the three of you would have the most mind blowingly pretentious conversation ever avoided by men."

Stefan rolled his eyes and sprang forward.

"I'm Stefan Salvatore and this is Alaric Saltzman," he said. Their interlocutor tapped an invisible hat and introduced himself as Nathaniel Curtis.

"We're looking for a missing vampire," Damon interrupted. "Blonde, girly, annoying..."

"Last seen in the woods near the castle less than an hour ago," Alaric added almost apologetically. He pulled the straps tight on his backpack, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Did she really have to go and disappear on him like that?

"You see," the old man began, "according to local legends, the Castle was built in the same grounds where a student was killed in a duel in the early 1800's."

"And his ghost haunts the place ever since?" Alaric asked wearily.

"Not _his_ ghost. His fiancée's, whose body was found in the same spot, days after. I believe she was a witch and her naughty spirit leads lone travellers off the beaten path," he finished, with an affable grin.

"You put the Brothers Grimm to shame," was Damon's cutting comment. "So, what do you know of Caroline's whereabouts?"

"Have you ever ventured those woods? It's a strange place, where the sun doesn't dare to enter. The constant chant of the dead laps the body and invades the mind like maggots, driving a vampire into a fatal frenzy," he told them in his smooth voice and well-bred pronunciation. "And, if it doesn't, something else is sure to come up and eat you like the proverbial wolf. You have to know your way around here."

"Sounds like a Disney special," Stefan countered.

"She's not _dead_ dead," Damon affirmed, rolling his eyes.

"How can you tell?" Nathaniel Curtis asked, curiously. "Oh, I see. She's your blood."

Damon didn't bother disputing the statement. He _had_ bound her to him for eternity, and they both knew he'd feel in the depths of his being whenever that bond was broken. It happened many times before, but not today, not with Blon - Caroline.

"As I said, she wouldn't survive there alone," Curtis continued (and Stefan was a little offended by his words; he _had_ taught her _something_). "If she managed to get out, then someone must have helped her."

"She might be within the limits of this property," Stefan suggested, his face clouded over.

"I don't know, she might be," the other responded, evasively. "The Brotherhood welcomes our kin."

"_The Brotherhood_? So you're involved in the grisly shit going on around here, after all," said Damon.

"What's the deal with this Brotherhood?" Alaric piped in. "Do they really plan on fulfilling apocalyptical prophecies by spreading blood diseases?"

"The Brotherhood propagates knowledge and seeks the truth," Curtis corrected. His voice was suave, yet there was an undercurrent in it of something almost frightening, fanatical. "Enlightenment."

"You've got more truth here than you can handle," Alaric scoffed.

"Never been good for the masses," Stefan murmured.

"Some of our brothers are overenthusiastic," Curtis explained, his eyes blazing wildly. "The virus was not conceived to kill humans, but to sterilize vampires. Once infected, the kindred are unable to embrace another childe. The world will be free from this curse at last."

Stefan stared at him with a deep frown and Alaric looked like he was open to consider it as an alternative to the stake, but Damon was positively horrified. Siring was one of the fringe benefits of undeath.

"Don't you feel the curtain being drawn back at last?" Curtis asked, conversationally. "_I_ have seen the signs of the ending."

Damon stared at him. It was hard to believe that something as mundane as apocalypticism was gaining ascendancy over the old man's head. Then again, it was known to happen to vampires over 400 years old, many of whom plunged into severe depression until they'd eventually end themselves. Immortality; time put that quality to the test.

"Signs are for the religious, the superstitious and the less deserving," he spat out. "I don't have time for this."

"You talked of disease, but what about the one that you and I both carry, our flesh remade into nothing more than an abomination? We can't let the night fall forever on this cursed earth."

Damon ran a hand over his face and groaned. He didn't like having to deal with other people's mental disorders. Usually, when overpowered by insanity, vampires became suicidal, which was a lot more convenient and easier to ignore than genocide.

Curtis was clearly out of his mind, a sad excuse for an ancient vampire. A creature that was made to prey and destroy now looked like an old, delusional... gardener.

"Hey, everyone's entitled to their beliefs," Alaric spoke up, "but will you really condone the abduction of a 17 years old girl?"

Curtis's expression hardened and his resolution seemed to wave. His mind was running in strange, unrecognized channels, and Damon doubted that he had that much humanity left in him to care.

At that instant, an agonizing scream come from the stone building, ripping the air and eclipsing every thought. Damon clenched his hands into fists and kept still. He didn't know who that voice belonged to, but he knew it was the last he'd hear from them.

"You seem to think that I have power over what happens here when I'm really just a spectator," Curtis said, looking slightly crestfallen. "I can't let you in. They'll destroy me."

"I'll destroy you worse."

"In which case you'd never even cross the threshold."

Maybe Damon didn't really think it through, but so what? He'd find a way. His mind raced with all the possibilities.

"I might have a permanent invitation," he said boldly. "This is still the Order's stronghold, right? As it happens, my membership has never been revoked."

"Isn't that cheating?" Alaric asked Stefan in a hushed voice. "I mean, then no place is really safe..."

Unexpectedly, Curtis threw his head back and broke forth in hysterical laughter. The three men looked at him bewildered and he managed to calm down before speaking.

"Can't an old man joke?" he said, in a tone of utmost placidity. "Why would I stand in your way?_ You_ will most likely bring about doom of your own making. Please, be my guests. Go ahead and dive below into the Ninth Circle."

A lazy grin tugged at his mouth and he went back to his manual task. Damon's aggrieved expression turned into one of mild concern, knowing that he would probably never see his old friend and mentor again. The hollow pit before them might be a grave after all.

Stefan and Alaric looked at each other and unsurely walked past the ominous vampire. The older Salvatore hesitated a moment before following them. Abruptly, Curtis flung out a hand to stop him.

"Love is the blackest of all plagues" he said significantly. "If that's what you chose for yourself, I can give you no counsel but hurry."

His face contorted once again in a crooked grin and his hand closed on Damon's shoulder painfully, like a claw, before letting go.

Damon stared at him and the words died in his throat before he could utter them. Indifference to mankind was what shut them out and sent them to roam in a world of ghosts, feeding on the living, exterminating them for the hell of it. While Curtis appeared to have chosen to be with death forever, Damon realised that, inadvertently, he had found something capable of making him feel, yet again, the triumph of being alive.

* * *

><p>Trembling hands held the hickory helve that met the iron blaze and the pressure left a sting in her palms. Truly, a tool for madmen.<p>

Did she qualify? She _was_ already hearing voices. Either she was going crazy or she should really cut back on the caffeine.

That gory setting was making her skin break out into gooseflesh and her nerves shy away in pure disgust. The scenes playing before her came straight out of a nightmare, jumbled together without reality or reason. Sitting alone in her bedroom, she wondered one too many times what other kinds of monsters wandered across the earth, but even then she hadn't pictured such a horrific encounter.

As uncomfortable as it was, she had been willing to cling to the ceiling for the necessary amount of time for her to think of an escaping route. Unfortunately, the fem-zombie could climb walls faster than a convict on the run.

She wasn't sure whether the creatures were the Castle's resident evil or something else was determined to make her nightmares real. Either way, luckily for her, she had watched enough horror movies in her adolescence to know backwards the survival guide in the event of a zombie attack.

After the initial panic, she looked around the room for essential gear. Her eyes ran over the dusty armours and arms ornamenting the walls until she spotted the only weapon at reach. That would have to do.

Combining super strength and speed, she moved down and forcefully pulled the axe from where it was mounted on the wall. When the ghoulish creature dropped from the ceiling, she didn't hesitate before swinging the axe high and striking.

The first blow gashed the undead's clammy neck, and it took a second chop to effectively complete decapitation. The creature let out a deafening scream and immediately turned to dust (literally, which would explain the thick layers covering the furniture).

She looked stupefied at the pile of ashes. None of her friends would believe that she had just beheaded a zombie with a blunt axe. _She_ didn't know she had it in her, such crazy melee skills.

She didn't pay attention to the toxic cinders overlaying her ivory skin. In that moment, she was too consumed by pity for the fate of the woman who, like herself, had been turned into a life-impaired being. She wished there was another way, but avoidance would only work for so long. Termination was forever. May _it_ rest in peace.

Lifting her gaze, she was met with yet another revolting sight. Two male looking zombies were slowly making their way towards her. They clearly had no sense of personal boundaries and were hungry for her tasty brain (Damon might not appreciate it, but those guys wanted nothing else).

She took a few steps back and gripped the axe's handle. Squeak all she wanted, she wouldn't make it to the door if she didn't get past the pair of reanimated carcasses, so she might as well assume a gleeful attitude and make them bite the dust.

"I see that you're indulging your primal instincts already." His voice came to her ear right after she wasted the third zombie. "Don't mind our guards' hostility. They tend to drool before supper."

Slightly breathless, she swiftly turned on her heels to face the vampire who brought her to that place.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, feeling all too brave. Damon was right, killing was empowering.

"They call me Bishop, Shepherd of the Damned, your midnight guide through our last days on earth." He held up a hand in a gesture meant to placate her evident fury. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone."

"Oh, yeah, now that you're here I feel so much safer," she sneered.

"Were you going somewhere?" he inquired, taking in her defensive stance. His voice was suddenly grave. "You can't escape me. One way or another, you and I will intertwine our beings on the way to the Ninth Circle and I will send you forth full of the sweet sickness I carry."

"What? That's disgusting," she said deadpan. "Not to imply that I care, but what is so wrong with you that you have to punish humanity for it and make it harder on all of us?"

"You are too indoctrinated into the antiquated beliefs of this material world," he said, disdainfully. "We're not punishing humanity, we're celebrating it. The Brotherhood is going to rid this world of the depravity and evil that vampires represent."

"So this is like a murder-suicide thing? You do know that vampires don't get sick, right? You've only killed humans so far... unless you're trying to starve us to death. "

"Humans can host the virus for weeks before succumbing to it, which makes them the ideal vectors to spread it. But do you know what the virus does? It weakens the blood, makes it so much thinner that an infected vampire is permanently unable to sire."

As he talked, he started to pace around very slowly, circling her, and she thought she had never seen such an obnoxious grin before.

"We had technical difficulties in the beginning. Some organisms didn't react as planned and the virus induced physiological transformation and aggressive behaviour. Fortunately, mutation fixed it," he happily announced. "You've just met a few of those prototypes. Come now, humans might infect countless vampires, but we need infected vampires to pass it on to humans first."

"You're... crazed. Let me out!" she commanded, with the remaining courage she could muster.

The Bishop sustained her gaze and she gasped. He wouldn't just let her go. He seemed to have quite unsanitary plans for her and he wouldn't budge.

Anger accentuated the veins in his face and his eyes became pitch dark. Behind him, more zombies appeared, as if they were rising from the ground. Intent on reaching her, they didn't acknowledge the Bishop's presence. Right then, she knew that things were fucked up beyond repair.

She brandished the axe and chopped off two heads, saying silent prayers for each of the unlives she was so sharply cutting short. In few minutes, however, the quick proliferation of the cannibalistic beasts forced her to resort to plan B: run off and find a place to hole up.

* * *

><p>A thunder seemed to echo on their ears and the rain fell on the roof like drums as they reached a side tower. Since they left the garden, none of them had said a word.<p>

Alaric observed Damon pensively. He might not commend his friend's interest in Caroline Forbes, but he couldn't very well condemn it either. Flirting so often with insanity himself, Damon would most likely end up like his old peer, only more dangerous. If now he seemed to have a stronger grasp on reality, Alaric guessed he had the blonde cheerleader to thank for it, among other contributing factors (and he humbly included himself in that category).

Even Stefan's doubts of his brother's intentions diminished after witnessing his badly concealed worry and newly found sense of responsibility where Caroline was concerned. He might still be a vicious killer and an insensitive prick towards others, but he was a little less maniacal now and that was everybody's gain.

"Where are we going?" he dared to ask.

"Down," Damon replied. "Didn't you hear him? We're not crashing the frat kids' clubhouse, we're looking for the demented undeads, and that's a little more to the south. You know, in the way to hell."

Damon pulled open a wooden door partially covered with ivy. A stone ladder led in a chamber with the airs of a crypt, illuminated only by two small windows at the end.

All the while, Damon tried to push away the persistent fear for Caroline's physical integrity. Up until now, he hadn't been aware that vampires could be exposed to infected blood. Curtis's revelations made him apprehensive, not so much about the clinic consequences of the disease, but over the possible forms of transmission. The mere idea of anyone laying a hand on her, blighting her delicate skin, made him so furious that his eyes seemed to be shooting sparks.

"Who in the fiend's name is there now?" said an unfamiliar voice that belonged to the tall blonde man stepping out of the shadows.

Simultaneously, a brunette woman, of mid-20s, appeared by his side, wearing a taunting smile and protruding fangs. She eyed them from head to toe. "Be most welcome."

The three of them stared down at the strange vampires, whose blazing eyes watched their reactions. An abhorrent smirk spread across their pale faces and they moved around like rabid beasts. Animosity was so palpable in the place that even saint Stefan was more than eager to be provoked into a fight, and it didn't take much to set off the clusterfuck that ensued.

"Came to join the enlightened?" the blonde man broke the uneasy silence.

"Hardly," Damon drawled, mocking the other's intonation. "You have something that's mine."

"You mean the girl?" the vampiress cut in. "I think the Bishop is making her ours as we speak."

At her words, Damon's face became livid. Although he had his back towards Alaric and Stefan, they could easily read his rigid posture. It was officially open season on all those sick sons of bitches.

Stefan and Damon took slow, determined steps forward, and the Brotherhood members rushed towards them. Damon's eyes flashed and he threw a punch at his flaxen counterpart, who dodged it and knocked Damon through the air. Landing on his feet, the dark-haired vampire crossed the room in the blink of an eye. His opponent jumped back over and over in supernatural speed, until he could back away no further.

Damon could tell that the vampire in front of him was a young one and, though fearless, the blood cursing through his veins wasn't nearly as strong as his. The fledgling aimed a punch at his chin, which Damon blocked deftly, closing his hand over the other's fist. He squeezed the hand until its owner knelt down in pain. Then, the older Salvatore produced a small, sharp hawthorn stake and drove it through his heart.

He kept the stake in place after the impalement and looked up to see his brother loosely holding the brunette girl by her throat. She kicked and hissed and predicted the death of all of them.

"You know you can stop now," Stefan told him, seeing as he was still gripping the stake.

"I wish we had more time," Damon replied, twisting the wooden weapon in the twice lifeless body. "Every time I yank a jawbone from a skull and ram it into an eyesocket, I know I'm building a better future."

"There's nothing like staking someone good and proper," said Alaric, who had lied down his backpack and was fumbling for something inside it.

"That's exactly it, teach," Damon agreed, pulling the stake from the body and plunging it into the feral vampiress' back.

"Hey!" Stefan protested.

Damon shrugged and surveyed the carnage. He'd have to admit that it _had_ a certain tinge of the apocalypse.

"Oh, my God, BEHIND YOU!" Alaric shouted and Damon blinked twice, unmoving. "I just had to say that. But, seriously, you might want to turn around."

The brothers whipped around to see a couple of zombies lunging for them. Ducking with vampire speed, they grabbed random pieces of furniture and hit the walking corpses with it. The zombies proved to be more resilient than expected and more of them emerged from the shadows. As they were closing in, a particularly stealthful one tore the flesh of Damon's left wrist with a bite.

"What the fuck," Damon cried out.

Equipped with what looked like a man-portable weapon of mass destruction, Alaric rose to his feet. "Watch your heads, guys."

He aimed the weapon and a steady stream of fire ran through the basement, setting the creatures ablaze. Damon and Stefan leapt into the air, narrowly escaping the withering blast. Their jaws dropped as they watched the immolated zombies disintegrate as a result of flame and retribution, covering the empty room with blankets of grime.

"And thank _you_ for the head's up," said Stefan, dropping from the ceiling and glaring at the human.

"Isn't it strange how victory smells like carbonized corpses?" Alaric said. He looked at Damon, who made their way to them, examining the festered wound on his left wrist. "Do you want me to cauterize that?"

Before Damon could respond, the twitching sounds of a woman shrieking penetrated the chamber and their faces grew deadly serious.

* * *

><p>Caroline was racing down the dark corridors, axe in hand, constantly looking over her shoulder. Analyzing her options, she quickly discarded the possibility of attacking the Bishop with the wedge. It was all fun and games with an enemy as slow as a zombie, but it was different with a vampire gifted with super speed and probably older than her.<p>

When she was certain that she didn't stand a chance against him and the horde of mindless creatures, she knew she had to buy time. She stormed out of the room as fast as unhumanly possible and, with a precise blow, cracked a portrait frame that was hanging on the hallway. When the Bishop reached her and grabbed her arm, the axe fell heavily on the floor and she slammed a sharp piece of wood into his shoulder with her free hand. He let out a loud groan and she took the chance to break free from his grip and run.

Unfortunately, it was the wrong direction. There wasn't a magic door to the outside world and she stopped short as she came to a brink. She stared at the balcony before her and realized that she was, in fact, in a damned mezzanine, above what looked like a basement, hidden in complete darkness. She had barely registered the smell of burnt flesh that invaded her flaring nostrils when the Bishop appeared in front of her.

"Why can't you understand that you've been chosen to do a great service to humankind?" he snarled.

Her comeback was cut short as he unmercifully slammed her head against the wall. "Even though I could think of a more enjoyable way of doing this, we'll just have to be quick – but not necessarily painless."

He raised his hand, and she widened her eyes. A large syringe was aimed at her and diving fast. Even though being alone in a dungeon with a vampire whack job was her fault, she wished Damon would keep his promise to protect her. She'd been thrown in the deep end on her own accord, and she wanted to show him how well she'd dealt with the zombie situation, but now she was just too tired and hungry.

She thought about shutting her eyes and just giving up as her muscles paralyzed with fear at the prospect of being imprisoned and killed. It felt like stepping out of her body and looking on herself trapped by the ravenous vampire that was smirking down at her.

_How does one kill fear, I wonder?_ The whole situation reminded her of a Cliff Notes version of Lord Jim that she'd read long ago to impress a guy. She was _dead_, she should be done with fear by now. A force from deep inside impelled her to fight and her eyes sparkled with anger. _How do you shoot a spectre through the heart, slash off its spectral head, take it by its spectral throat? _So many options._  
><em>

She kicked him off as hard as her strength allowed and the Bishop crashed onto the floor, sending the syringe flying across the room. Within seconds, however, he got on his feet, looking positively murderous, and charged at her, pinning her defenceless body against the wall by the shoulders.

"What were you feeding on earlier? Virgins? Unicorn blood?" she muttered groggily. She guessed the only reason why she was able to endure so much pain was because of the human diet, but somehow he was still stronger.

"You're getting me mad, blonde."

His gaze was fixed on her jugular vein and his glaringly white fang-like teeth came down menacingly. Caroline strained to keep him away from her neck, but she could tell that his hands were going to leave distinct purple impressions in her colourless skin as he pulled her closer.

"Madness seems to be the order of the day." Damon's voice carried across the basement to her hopeful ears and she felt herself swayed by some strange excitement. "Of most days, in fact."

The Bishop distanced himself slightly, but didn't loose his grip as he snapped over his shoulder to glower at the shadows on the floor below. The basement was dark and cool as a cave and he could hardly distinguish the three standing figures.

"You shouldn't be here," he shouted to the walls, like a man out of sight. "You're not en -"

"Actually," said Damon, interrupting the repetitive speech. "I've _seen_ the light at the end of the tunnel: it was a flamethrower."

"You're Curtis's friend," the Bishop said accusingly, as understanding dawned on him. "He said you'd come."

"Did he, though?" Damon grumbled. That traitorous asshole.

"The old fool seemed to believe that you were sent here on a deliverance mission," he said, scornfully.

Giving Stefan a sideways glance, Alaric pulled a chrome pistol from his waistband. He handed it to Damon, who coolly caught it and began to load it. "I hate to admit it," he said, "but the cuckoo was right."

"Nothing you do will prevent our bloody harvest," the plague bearer vociferated. "Our brothers are everywhere."

"The thing is, I couldn't care less. I'm only here to set the standard for 'not to be fucked with', so let's skip the doomsday crap. Release her," he commanded.

"Would you care if I snapped her neck?" said the Bishop, sounding vaguely disquiet. "Don't come any closer."

"I won't."

In a split second, he skilfully aimed and fired, striking the Bishop squarely in the back. The wooden bullet travelled a straight path to his lung and the vampire turned around, easing Caroline down. With a clear view, Damon loaded the gun and aimed again. The adapted Eagle's round placed itself right in the heart and the hardwood started to spread its poisonous effects immediately.

Caroline braced herself and watched as the Bishop dropped to the floor. Finally, her gaze fell upon Damon and her clear blue eyes bore into his. Without a word, she leapt over the balcony, landing gracefully on her feet, and started to him, each pace awaking a new sentiment inside them.

In her eagerness, she stumbled and he advanced to catch her. She buried her face in his neck, her chest heaving almost convulsively, and it seemed as though she was trying not to break down. His eyes flashed at her fiercely and he gathered her in his arms greedily.

Stefan and Alaric stood off, as neither of them felt like they were in the company of creatures of their species. They were unique beings, in a moment of their own. Caroline glanced up at him and Damon covered her arms with frantic caresses.

"What took you so long?" she asked, pulling away a few inches, but still holding him firmly. She sounded so demanding that he wanted to roll his eyes, but, overcome with relief for finding her almost unscathed, he refrained from doing so.

He touched her face lightly and a miniscule smirk set on his lips. "I'm surrounded by idiots, what's new with you?"

She flashed him a tearful smile and whispered: "Stay with me."

"Till the end of time," he arched an eyebrow, sarcastically. "I think that's the whole point..."

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2:** This chapter was a bit action-packed. I hope it wasn't too tiresome, but I swear it was important to move the story forward, so we can, at last, have some Daroline goodness. I stole the Latin bit from a song and there's a _Seventh Seal_quote in the beginning, and, of course, the last scene was a homage to _Buffy_. I didn't want to make Caroline too much of a damsel in distress, so I thought I should give her an axe to play with after all (Damon kind of suggested it himself a few chapters ago). I needed to get this over with and next chapter I promise we'll tone down the supernatural crazyness and have some serious conversations between those two.

In despite of my sparse updates, I'm really committed to this story and I'm doing my best to make it worth reading. So, please let me know if you like anything at all :)

Oh, and, since I can't reply to some reviewers (anon reviewers or PM option disabled), I want to reiterate that your lovely words mean a lot to me :) so thanks.


	9. Infralove I

**A/N:** Thank you guys for your support. I once again divided the chapter in two, not because it's long, but because it's easier to edit that way. I'm completely unsatisfied with this installment, and I considered erasing it to start from scratch, but the weeks have come and gone and I haven't seem to find time to work on it.

* * *

><p><strong>Infralove<strong>

* * *

><p>Until the end of time. Until the earth stops turning.<p>

The earth was spinning vertiginously behind her eyelids.

She rested back in the seat in a vain, weary attempt at easing the migraine spreading through her skull. The soft hum of the engine helped her muscles relax and her eyes fluttered closed every now and then.

It was half an hour earlier when he guided her out into daylight and she quietly hopped in the car, revelling in its familiarity. It had his smell all over. After riding in that car every day for the past few days, it almost felt like home.

Damon stayed behind to talk to the rest of the coterie. When he sat behind the wheel, she was too tired (and maybe too embarrassed of her needy reaction upon his arrival) to look in his direction.

She didn't pay attention to the scenery flashing by as the car rolled on. She was still reeling from the recent events and her mental exhaustion was translated in her gaze and feeble movements.

Ever since transitioning, she had been wounded in every joint, hurt in every nerve, tortured and bruised. As of now, her hair was dishevelled and knotted, her attire looked shabby and her body was numb, which she blamed on the veneer of ashes overlaying her exposed skin and slowing her healing.

However, as bits and pieces of the last three hours came to her, a sense of peace settled in her heart. She felt like she'd staked heavily and won - she'd fought her way through zombieland and survived. For the first time in a good while, she felt free as a breeze, rising rather than falling apart, and his influence had been determinant in such accomplishment.

She had tried to hate, despise and ignore him and none of that worked. Not when he went into all kinds of trouble to teach her the metaphysics of their nature and to protect her from herself.

She came to see Damon under a new light, that of a hero. A man who would argue with the gods and awaken devils to contest his vision.*

Those thoughts swirled in her brain as he drove intent on the road, casting furtive looks in her direction every five minutes. They had been quiet all the way since Chapel Hill, until he reached out and turned on the radio. A languid song filled the car and made its way into her ears and mind.

_If I should die this very moment,_  
><em>I wouldn't fear.<em>

A week before their journey, it would have never occurred to her that she could love him. Yet, his proximity made her heart tighten and she felt something that "like" didn't quite cover.

_for I've never known completeness_  
><em>like being here.<em>

She nervously bit her bottom lip as she thought of going home. Once she descended into her own life, she knew that week would seem more and more like a vain fantasy. She wanted to hold on to him and never leave his side.

Trailing her fingers on the glass, she looked outside at the streaks of brown and green and mixed up ideas finally fell into place. She didn't share the Brotherhood fascination for their brethren extinction. If Nature endowed them with deathlessness, they might as well conquer everything under the sided hollow sky. Even desecrated beings like her and Damon deserved a second chance. And that's when she made up her mind.

_Could we stay right here,_  
><em>till the end of time,<em>  
><em>until the earth stops turning?<em>  
><em>Wanna love you until the seas run dry…<em>  
><em>I've found the one<em>  
><em>I've waited for.<em>

Damon glanced at her and took in her shaky appearance. He would _never_ admit to the elation that he experimented when he held her trembling body in his arms, though the mere recollection of that moment was enough to stir protective feelings towards her.

He didn't know what was going on in that little head of hers, but the number of different emotions that passed over her features intermittingly was getting on his nerves. She'd better not be hurt or depressed or _still_ angry at him over that stupid argument. He blasted the stereo's volume, trying to drown out his own thoughts.

_Here is true peace,  
>here my heart knows calm,<br>safe in your soul,  
>bathed in your sighs...<em>

_All I've known, all I've done, all I've felt was leading to this._ The female unflurried voice coming from the stereo found its way into his mind. Perhaps it all wasn't so much about Caroline leaving Mystic Falls as him finding reasons to stay. He told her he would, for good and all, and he really meant it.

Just as the last note played and another song started in the background, a car cut in front of them and he punched the honk, looking flustered. Caroline saw the white SUV pass in a blur as he cursed under his breath. Suppressing a chuckle, she glanced up at him for the first time since they left the castle and her mouth hung open as she saw the punctured marks on his left wrist.

"Damon..." she breathed, her voice full of concern.

She impulsively flung out her arm to touch his free hand, which prompted the butterflies to perform advanced acrobatics in her stomach.

"You should see the other guy," he said with a faint tilt to his lips and her fingers ghosted over his knuckles before withdrawing.

There was something different in his expression, like he was thrusting his doubts aside to bask in the same feeling that shot up through her body at their brief contact, and all the danger she'd just been in seemed less real than what she saw in his eyes.

"I bet he died of indigestion," she said after a moment, earning a half-hearted glare from him. "Chewing on dead tissue."

"We're here," he announced as the car drew up at Morehead Hill.

He pulled the car in a private driveway and Caroline stared outside the window at an aging bungalow.

"Shortcut?" she asked, noticing that Alaric's car was nowhere to be seen. He nodded. "Whose place is this?"

"Mine," he said, matter-of-factly, as though it had Damon Salvatore written in blood all over it.

Sure enough, he advanced toward the prominent front porch and used his own key to unlock the door. It was dark inside, as all of the windows were shut. A closed-string stair rose in the corner and at the top of it a nerdy looking guy with sandy messy hair and brown eyes stared at them curiously before rushing down and slapping Damon's shoulder soundly.

"Salvatore," he exclaimed. "How are you hanging, man? I thought you'd be coming yesterday."

"Gene." The dark-haired vampire acknowledged the other man. "You've made yourself a nice crypt here."

"It's not like I can go out during the day. Supersensitive skin, remember? So, this is the gang. But who exactly are _you_, babe?" he focused on Caroline and flashed a sly grin.

Damon pushed him to the side and made his way into the house, running a hand over the stairs' oak balustrade. "You can have the suite upstairs," he told the blonde.

A soft breeze came sweeping into the hall and there came along Stefan and Alaric. The younger Salvatore brother strayed from the three men exchanging compliments in the foyer and stood beside her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, with a pleasant level voice.

She grimaced. It had been really stupid on her part to get lost in Battle Woods and walk freely into a cage. Stefan probably thought she had a death wish or something. She killed, she was brutalized and she risked everyone's lives because she so foolishly wanted to get that undertaking over with, only to realise that she wasn't in a hurry to go home. Profit.

She pondered over his question. All things considered, she was just fine. She'd come all the way to that place in a very particular quest. She wanted to determine what character of a woman, of a vampire she was, and she felt like she was a crosshair from the answer.

Stefan followed her gaze, fixed on his older brother, who was watching them back. He was familiar with her sheer beauty, but there was a suggestion of restless fire about her then, and he saw the same in Damon's eyes. He shook his head gently and squeezed her shoulder. She turned to him with a vague and contagious smile gracing her lips.

"I just desperately need a shower," she replied noncommittally, moving up the staircase.

"Eugene Morehead IV," she heard the boyish vampire introduce himself. "I'm like a friendly neighbourhood vampire. Technically, I own the place, since I'm the one who's not officially shoved off this mortal coil, but I don't like to brag. Took good care of the place, though, huh? Tell me, do you think it's time for a second restoration?"

* * *

><p>The master suite (as Caroline learnt after barging into a few different rooms) was isolated in the left side of the house. It was a charming room, panelled in cream with a large, grimy window facing the main street.<p>

Making sure there was a bathrobe available, she dropped her clothes on the bathroom floor, pulled the pristine curtain and stepped into the shower.

The cold water fell soothingly over her limbs and she let her thoughts aimlessly drift to light subjects. So, that was why Damon didn't pick a hotel in Durham. The large and old-fashioned building clearly belonged in the historic district, as did his owner. She made a mental note to ask him about real estate investments some time, as she'd like to ensure a prosperous eternity as well.

Soap rinsed off all evidence of the Bishop's touch and the water banished her distress down the drain. She turned the faucet off and changed into the terry cloth robe, drying her hair off briskly with a towel.

It seemed as though she hadn't showered in days. She felt fresh and invigorated. Feeding was the only task left to take care of before she and Damon ran out of excuses and stopped dancing around their emotional issues.

There was no reason to be afraid of, she told herself. It was no use trying to conceal her feelings at this point. She peered at the image in the mirror, trying to find something different, that glow that people keep talking about, but, as she leaned in, the click of the door in the bedroom demanded her attention.

As she emerged from the bathroom, she spotted her duffel bag lying on the wooden floor near the door and her eyes strayed to the figure sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Thanks for bringing my stuff," she said with a smile.

Damon looked up at her. He noticed that a subtle trace of nervousness laced her scent, as his gaze roamed unabashed over her body. Her damp blonde hair fell down in loose waves over her shoulders, and the white fabric of the robe blended into her lifeless skin.

She zeroed in on his wrist and the sight of the wound dispelled her thoughts. The pores were welling up with blood and the abraded skin seemed about to bust.

"It looks really bad, Damon," she said softly.

"It's fine," he muttered slightly annoyed, while the quivering of his fingers said otherwise. "I'm just going to strap it up until I go out and feed."

To suit the action to the words, he walked past her towards the bathroom. Her gaze followed him, as he stopped by the sink, frantically sprinkling water over his forearm. He opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved a roll of gauze.

She slowly approached him, scanning the region round the wound as he struggled to unravel the bandage. "You're not infected, you know," she said. "The zombies were an experiment gone wrong. This is disgusting, but not permanently injurious. If you don't mind turning into a zombie, you might be able to have a normal life."

"What would that make me, some kind of _hybrid_? Vampires _don't_ become anything else."

She disguised her smile at his offended expression. She pulled his arm wordlessly and took a closer look at his injured wrist. Grabbing the moist gauze from his hand, she used it to dress the wound.

As she pressed the cloth bandage on the spot, blood soaked the white fabric. Although her medical experience was limited, she was in the vampire business long enough to be alarmed by the extended bleeding.

It must have been a nasty bite, if his organism was taking so long to complete regeneration. If anything, it got worse by the minute, and probably stung like hell. All because of her, she thought, as her heart darkened with guilty.

She quit her ineffective efforts and glanced up at his face again.

"Drink from me." The words sprang from her mouth loudly and hurrying. "It'll make you heal faster."

Damon wanted to laugh out loud and ask if she realised the significance of her proposition, but the disarming determination with which she glared at him suffocated his mockery before it could be expressed. He settled for staring at her spellbound, his eyebrows quirked in the funniest way.

"This is not just any wound," she said flippantly. "It's awful and disgusting and your blood is failing to clot."

She poked at the gash for good measure and he hissed, seizing her arm. Well, at least the bite didn't do much to diminish his strength.

"I think I'll pass. I don't need your mother trying to behead me in my sleep if she ever finds out."

"You're rejecting blood that's being willingly offered to you?" she snickered. "I didn't realize we took the moral high road over here."

"I can't do that to you," he said, releasing her arm. His mouth was mere inches from hers as his impossibly blue eyes bore into her earnest and veined ones. He let his mouth hover above hers for an endless moment until the hunger roared inside. His pupils dilated and then contracted. "You're as hungry as I am."

"But I'm all in one piece," she replied gently, stepping forward. "And I want you to."

There's only so much temptation a vampire can resist. He pressed his lips to her collarbone, moving towards a spot at the base of her throat. Placing his right hand around her waist, he let his teeth drag lightly over her alabaster skin. A shiver ran down his spine as she voluntarily granted him access to the gracious column of her neck, and her blood poured into his mouth, rich and dark like good brandy.

It wasn't the first time that he consumed vampire blood. He was, in fact, well acquainted with its qualities. It was better than alcohol, stronger than heroin; taste like vengeance and other fuzzy feelings. But nothing he had ever had compared to the thick elixir that coursed through her veins. They both let out a groan and she clenched her fingers around a fistful of his black hair.

She had found herself in that same situation on one too many occasions, but it had never felt this good before. She had never experienced the bruising pleasure of sharing her blood with someone else on her own accord.

As he expertly pulled back and his fangs receded, there was no touch of crimson staining his mouth, nor vestiges of perforation in her neck. His lips curled in wry appreciation as she brushed her fingers on both his wrists, feeling nothing but the evenness of his fair skin.

In that moment, lust overcame the hunger, slamming through them like a crested wave repeatedly breaking against their boundaries. Her lashes lifted slowly and she graced his lips with hers. His hand slipped to the small of her back, manoeuvring them back into the bedroom. There, he claimed her mouth in a kiss that made her melt all the way to her toes.

As her back pressed against the cold wall, he leaned back a little and his mouth feathered across her temple with quiet reverence. She sighed through a dreamy smile, chancing a look at the bag still abandoned on the floor.

"Don't get dressed on my account," he said with a husky voice, sliding his fingers beneath the sleeve of her robe to caress the soft skin of her forearm.

"That'll go well with your sleazy friend downstairs."

"He's not my friend. He's a loose end I neglected to tie up, " he replied begrudgingly, leaning in to nibble her jaw. "And not much competition at that."

"You're so full of yourself."

He flashed a mischievous grin. "What can I say? It's a burden the Salvatores bear. Women everywhere think we're cool upon cool."

"So I've heard," she murmured. Warming to the subject, she stared into his eyes and spoke quietly. "Why did you choose me, Damon?"

Her eyes flashed under his shadow and he wondered how she managed to preserve her liveliness through death. As he watched her, the detached quality of his balance was absent. Rather, he wanted to hold her tightly and devour her whole.

"_Choose_? The alternative has yet to be found."

When he first laid eyes upon her, he was drawn by her beauty, although her submission wouldn't have inspired the deep and strong feelings he had for her now. Her conduct as a vampire earned his irrevocable respect and he knew that they were made of the same blood and their souls were of the same substance.

"You drive me mad, but not as much as the idea of not having you," he concluded.

He drew back slightly and pressed his palm against the wall, shutting his eyes for a couple of seconds. She watched as his chest slowly heaved up and down, a rare trait of his vulnerability.

He'd suffered a lot more than her in his lifetime, and he held on to the pain until he got rope burnt. Letting his guard down again wasn't easy and she couldn't help but feel flattered to be the one he was opening up to.

"I thought you were still in love with Katherine… or Elena," she said, with her characteristic sincerity.

"Elena?" he repeated like the name was foreign to him. "I fucked her biological mother and her doppelganger fucked me over. Twisted is the word that comes to mind."

"Right. And it doesn't suit you at all."

"I should be asking you of Stefan," he said. As she opened her mouth to retort, he added quickly: "But I won't. It's not important right now."

The sun was creeping up through the blinds, illuminating her silvery skin, and his lips twitched upwards.

"You should know that Southern gentlemen prefer blondes," he said.

Her bubbly laughter hung in the air like sunshine in the house as he tenderly swept aside the blonde locks that shed water droplets over her shoulders.

A surge of change approached them, big enough to make him nervous and excited. Something inside him begged the question: could he handle it? As he looked at her, he knew that change was the one thing he needed. And, because he couldn't wait, he kissed her over and over.

* Norman Mailer's definition of a hero.


	10. Infralove II

**Infralove II**

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon when the five members of the house party assembled in the living room. Caroline was the last one to descend the stairs, finding the men either slouched on the couch or drinking generous amounts of bourbon by the unlit fireplace. <em>Children of the night, what a mess they make<em>, she thought, amused.

She and Damon had been so absorbed in each other that the doorbell reverberated through the house for the third time before they realised it. It wasn't until Alaric called him from downstairs that he conceded to leave. Though he considered pretending he didn't hear, they both knew it was a matter of time before someone else's super hearing channelled their muffled voices anyway.

She took her time to change into a dress, idly comb her hair and smile giddily in front of the mirror. She figured she could afford making a fool of herself in the privacy of her room as long as she pulled herself together before meeting everyone downstairs.

The flat-screen television incorporated in the living room wall was on local news when a bulletin interrupted the regular programming. The words "Gimghoul burglary" ran at the bottom of the screen as the newscaster narrated the vandalization of the historic property.

"Police don't have any suspects at this time," said the anchor, "but they're pretty sure it was you."

She blinked twice and stared at the TV. Clearly, she needed to feed, immediately. Crazy was becoming too weak a word to describe her.

Damon set his glass over the fireplace when he caught sight of her, approaching in light steps, a green mid-thigh length dress revealing her long, shapely legs.

"... the cartoon was cool, but the movies are all forgettable," she tuned in Alaric's voice midsentence. "Be it the 1986 or the new ones."

"Oh, come on," Eugene exclaimed. "_Transformers_? I'd pick the new ones any time. At least they have better effects and hot chicks to look at."

Caroline scoffed. "Of course _you_ would appreciate their efforts in using modern technology to animate blow up dolls and pretend they're actresses."

Alaric and Stefan laughed at her intervention, but Eugene just flashed a very sleazy grin. Accepting Stefan's silent offer, she sat beside him, scooting over as far from Eugene as possible.

Damon stood up abruptly and she frowned at his retreating figure. The conversation eventually evolved to _The Godfather_ trilogy and, before she could add her two cents (and she probably shouldn't), an ivory hand materialized in front of her, holding a scarlet coloured glass.

"Plasma bag," Damon said. "Not the finest, but it's the easiest way to eat around here."

"My treat," Eugene perked up. "Blood bank delivery. Damon said you're no veggie," he added, drawling out the last sentence as if it had a dirty meaning.

Caroline gulped and carefully avoided Stefan's piercing eyes. She could feel his ever reproaching gaze on her. But, with a look at Damon's stern expression, Stefan knew better than to pick up a fight with his older brother. He was pleased as a punch on the inside and, being Damon Salvatore, that naturally triggered an unhinged, defensive disposition.

As the three of them stood frozen, Eugene's small eyes went from Damon to her with a knowing smirk, and Caroline wanted to smack him in the head. It was an awkward moment, which only Alaric, woozy as a drunken fighter on his last legs, was oblivious to.

"You know, I'm surprised," the teacher broke the silence, gesturing towards Damon and Eugene. "I thought Mr. Killing Spree over here destroyed every vampire he ever came across. But it turns out there are quite a few left."

Damon lightly touched her arm as he walked past her to return to his seat, from where he covertly observed as she raised the glass, absorbing the sweetness of the lush drink.

"He can't kill me," Eugene said. "Witch spell."

Damon shrugged. "He's not a threat. And I'm not a hunter, I _don't_ go around killing vampires for a living. I only do it sporadically because I'm a concerned citizen."

"When did you get this house?" asked Stefan, surveying the place.

"About ten years ago. It was to be demolished and I bought it on the spur of the moment," was his off-hand reply.

Stefan laconically raised his thick eyebrows. There was so much about his brother's life that he didn't know. Thankfully, not all of it was bloody and vicious. He was capable of harmless endeavours as well, like property buying (investing on future price appreciation is bound to pay off when you live forever). Well, one could say he was proud – if there was any truth in that explanation, that is. More likely, Damon had simply compelled and dried the old proprietors, the help and their little dog, too.

Grabbing the remote, he occupied himself in flipping through the channels. The screen bloomed into dark coloured photography as a spooky Nicolas Cage revealed his vampiric identity in _Vampire's Kiss_.

"Vampires pretending to be humans pretending to be vampires," Eugene observed.

"Nicolas Cage?" said Stefan. "You're not serious."

"I'm _dead_ serious," Eugene gravely responded. "Everybody knows that."

"What's on your mind?" Stefan asked Caroline.

She sighed, smoothing out her dress. "I was thinking. What made that so called Bishop so strong? It's not like my diet lacks any proteins."

"He might be ancient," suggested Stefan.

"I don't think he was," Damon cut in. "He talked like Curtis was older than him, maybe even his sire."

"I have a theory," Alaric chimed in. "I've read about it a long time ago."

All eyes on him, he stared into space with a contemplative expression that only drunk people could pull off.

"Well?" Damon said, impatiently.

"In the early 19th century, there were covens of vampires in eastern Europe known for preying upon humans and upon themselves. It's been said that the leader fed on the neonates."

"Vampires that prey upon vampires," murmured Stefan.

"Like ophiophagous snakes," Alaric happily nodded. "You know, snakes that eat other snakes. Only it's vampires."

Crash! The glass by Damon's elbow fell shattered to the floor. Caroline wanted to laugh at his astonished expression. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

The way Alaric said it, it did sound slightly disgusting, but it wasn't like they were actually feeding on each other. It wasn't about dominance. She just helped him out in a time of need, and why shouldn't she? They were bonded by blood, after all.

"Snakes?" said Eugene, indignantly. "Hey, I take offence to that."

"You take offence to what? You feed on squirrels," Damon scoffed, kicking the broken glass in the firebox. "I know you don't get out often, but polite vampire society looks down on that kind of thing."

"Whatever. They can be polite and pass me the salt."

* * *

><p>Their friendly banter went on for a couple of hours until the solemn groan of the clock in the corner dispersed the group at seven. The vampires on animal diet left together, to align themselves with the dark, swampy atmosphere of the neighbourhood after dusk and find some rodents to prey on. The human bid goodnight and stumbled all the way upstairs, presumably to sleep like a log.<p>

Damon's gaze fell upon Caroline and his brow was deeply furrowed when he spoke. "You almost got yourself killed today. Don't you think I forgot."

He was in no position to reprimand her as he saw fit because he was the one who dragged her into that hellish conspiracy in the first place, but her recklessness never failed to make him extremely frustrated.

"I'm sorry," her voice dropped low and she rose to her feet. "I guess today was a little overwhelming."

"A masterpiece of understatement," he sneered. "Where are you going?"

"Bed…" she said more like a question, fidgeting with her ring.

A draft rushed by her and blew open the window's curtains as he blurred in front of her.

"Yours or mine?" he inquired, with a guarded smirk.

She rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn't very well hide the smirk pushing at her lips. He gripped her waist and she felt the pressure of his body against hers. His lips traced her cheekbone down to her mouth.

Leaning back on the couch, he pulled her down onto his lap, straddling him. He half expected her to jump up and leave, but she stayed. As if she heard his thoughts and was aiming to torture him, she weaved her arms around his neck with wild abandon, pushing herself deeper into his embrace. She gasped softly at his hungry response as he kissed her, bringing the straps of her dress down her shoulder.

"Do you trust me, Caroline?" he suddenly asked. She looked up at him, almost getting lost in the cerulean pools of intensity staring back at her. It was like a spectral of hope was encapsulated in that single, guileless moment.

"I do," she said simply. He ran his hands down her back, feeling the sleek muscles under the dress. He peppered kisses at the length of her throat, marvelling at how his cheek fitted perfectly in the depression of her neck.

"Every day," she said between kisses, "every time you're there for me."

It was true. Their survival in such a bleak world was rounded by gore and paranoia. With him, however, she didn't _fear_ anything. It was because of him that she acquired the knowledge of a world beyond cold science and dull routine, but, above all, he was the reason why she felt like she belonged in it.

She pulled his shirt free, tossing it on the floor. He made his way along her neckline again, her skin shivering under his lips, and began to undo her bra.

"Why did you choose _me_?" he echoed her question back to her.

Her distracting fingertips were drawing circles on his bare shoulders, but his eyes never left her face.

"I feel like there's no one I can be myself with, but you," she admitted.

She gave him a small smile, one that said that she believed in him as much as he wanted to believe in himself. She was tired of shying away from him. She wanted to feel everything she had been holding back. Whatever the cost.

"Then, be with me always," he whispered, matching her earlier words.

His mouth was silky and strong as it sought her swollen, bloodied lips. He pulled her closer, pressing her naked breasts against his chest and pleasure rippled through her in the heat of friction. He kissed her wantonly and Caroline's occasional moans were the only sounds heard in the darkness.


	11. Interlude

**A/N:** I'm terribly sorry it's been so long. Life's been crazy lately, I moved out and the computer crashed taking this chapter with it. It took me forever to rewrite it and I kept changing things because I couldn't seem to get it right the second time around. I really can't believe it's been over a month and a half since the last update. As much as I want to update consistently, things keep getting in the way. As an avid fanfiction reader, I know it's difficult to keep up with a story that is updated on such an irregular basis, and for that I apologize profusely. Thank you ever so much for your support, though; your words were my motivation to finish this installment (which, to add insult to injury, is mostly a filler :( ). I might edit and try to improve it later today, but I'm already working on the next chapter (which I can't say will be out soon, but it won't be nearly this long either).

* * *

><p><strong>Interlude<strong>

* * *

><p>The moon's pale light spilled into the room through the half open window and a soft breeze stirred the curtains. Dark tree branches brushed the glass, scratching, humming a low roundelay.<p>

Two vampires crept down the alley back to the house. As their footsteps and murmurs came to his ears, Damon led Caroline towards the bedroom, a hand gently placed on the small of her back. He held the door open for her and she silently glided inside. Having locked the door, he turned around to be met with the view of her drowsy form lying on the bed.

Her hair covered the pillow in a fine mist float and he lied beside her, lazily propping up on his elbow to gaze at her, his imagination held and riveted. That was a distinct moment in his life, possibly the most extraordinary one. A warm feeling stole over him when he suddenly realised that he couldn't imagine anybody else in her place; no one else would have made sense, in that bed, by his side.

She stirred a bit and yawned behind her hand before focusing on him under mile long lashes.

"You look like a creepy old man," she said, as he watched her with stalkerish concentration.

"I don't look old," he noted, his voice hoarse, an indolent smile plastered on his mouth. And he didn't. Nothing would ever rob him of his youth or the infinite possibilities of immortality.

As he so smugly pointed out a couple of nights before, that was something they could hold on to: time. Their minds would eventually degenerate and they'd be haunted by memories of sins and unrequited passions, but their limbs would never fail and their senses would never rot. No, they'd never look old.

He was turned at a glorious age. Never aging to him simply meant that his vices would never show in the lines of his mouth or the moulding of his hands. And he'd rather flaunt it than complain.

A particularly thick branch tapped the window. Caroline stretched her alluring body and rolled to the side, blonde locks standing out around her face like an angel's halo.

"What happened to your friend?" came her quiet query. He waited for her to elaborate on that one. "What's got into him to kill himself?"

"Take your wildest guess," he replied curtly, but he knew her sleep had gone the way of the ghost, and so did his hopes for peace and silence.

"Do you think we'll all end up the same?"

He started to shake his head no - but, then, how would he know for sure? An inarticulate negative escaped his lips, instead.

Trying to picture his 400 years old self was such a convoluted thought; he could only imagine the burden of witnessing human evolution throughout four centuries, loving, hating, hunting, escaping, adapting.

On the other hand, he didn't like to think of his own demise at all: it was morbid and unprofitable. He settled for not saying anything, but, just as he thought his eloquent silence would suffice, she sneaked another glance at him, absently playing with the hem of the sheet, and his cold blue eyes met her curious ones. She looked so cute and exasperating that he caved in.

He told her the curse was different for each one of their kind. Some of them were incurably unbalanced and their insanity manifested from overpowering homicidal tendencies to near catatonia. They heard voices, they saw things, no wonder they tried to find a way out.

She traced the veins in his arms, as thin and fine as the strands of hair he pushed behind her ear. She didn't think that explanation accounted for every single vampire who ever died with suicide. It was a world of monsters, she protested. Anyone who didn't hear and see strange things had to be deaf and blind.

She told him about the journal she had found, about the verses she'd read in it. _Theft, adultery, devilment, witchery._

"Ah, the attributes and style of crap vampire poetry," he interrupted her. "Must be written in a funky colour of ink. Must include dominant themes of alienation, sexual ambivalence, self-loathing, death..."

She swiped his arm lightly and glared at him for making fun of her. He merely arched his eyebrows, disdainfully. "If you have to know, _port mortem_ insanity is no different than paranoid schizophrenia, only it's about three times worse."

"I wonder if insanity is all there is to it," she said quietly. "Maybe he didn't have enough humanity left in him to live for."

They were so close from each other that he could feel every word on the tip of his nose, even if his eyes were fluttering closed every now and then.

"Ah," he grumbled. "I can see you're an ardent devotee of St. Stefan, patron of long lost and pointless causes."

"Am not," she said. "I'm just saying that vampires shouldn't have to stray so far away from their human side. We shouldn't have to live on the edge all the time, we should be able to, I don't know, keep balancing good and evil, as we did all of our lives. You know, trying _not_ to fly off the handle."

He quirked an eyebrow and took in her confident expression. If they did need to preserve a remnant of humanity, he'd be damned if he hadn't found her – or turned her, for that matter. Her quick, incoherent ideas appealed to his imagination like no woman ever had, and the feelings he had for her were human as any weakness.

"Young vampires talk about the strangest things," he just said, suppressing a grin. "They really do."

She sighed softly, almost contentedly, and glanced around the dim lit room. Then, she said, in a mystified: "I can't believe you own this place. It's so... nice."

"Your point being..."

"I expected any place you owned to be, like, a monument of evil," she replied, unceremoniously. "Plus, I thought death made real estate investment really difficult."

Although the house was so serenely lifeless, as if it had never belonged to a mortal being, it was surprisingly cosy as well.

She remembered the tales in which the creatures of the night hibernated in old-fashioned wooden coffins. As uncomfortable and unhygienic as it seemed, it wasn't too farfetched a trope. Vampires were bound to feel the need to bury themselves in their own dark sanctuary once in a while, like a peaceful respite to rest and push away the forces of decay.

Unfortunately, she surmised, arranging proper lodging was sure to get more and more difficult for the modern day dead.

"Contracts are _very_ inconvenient," he admitted. "Wherever you go, it's safer to occupy temporary accommodations nowadays."

"Then, why did you get this place?"

"I did what I had to do to keep that mice sucking lowlife from following me everywhere I went."

"You really can't kill him, can you?"

"Not permanently, no," he lamented.

"Well, it's only natural that he'd look for some kind of guidance," she hinted.

"Guidance? He's a fucking moron," he snorted. "He used to believe that getting a full blood transfusion would make him human again."

She laughed in despite of herself. "What did _you_ tell him?"

"That it wouldn't work unless he killed the head vampire with a holy stake first," he said, with a straight face.

"Do you always have to be so wry?" She tried to sound highly disapproving rather than mildly amused. He could be so petty. And for some silly reason or other he was hell bent on never letting anyone know that, contrary to expectations, Damon Salvatore had friends.

"Sometimes, I'm even wrier," he said dryly. "Which reminds me: could you do me a favour and avoid walking alone into vampire madhouses in the future?"

"Yes. Unless you invite me over," she solemnly promised and he rolled his eyes.

Dark reigned outside the window, yet a white streak of moonlight highlighted her clear blue eyes as she prepared to voice another doubt.

"Not our problem," he said firmly.

"You mean that you don't care-"

He pulled her closer still and his hands rummaged underneath the dress she had slipped back on before falling asleep on the couch. "That's exactly what I mean," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I can't be bothered if a bunch of raving lunatics set out to extinguish all vampires by spreading a pestilence that doesn't even kill us."

She looked at him defiantly as his eyes bore into hers.

"You say that now, but if you ripped an infected artery and could never sire again, well..." she trailed off. "You'd be doing all sorts of caring."

"It only takes a blood hunt to wipe out the Brotherhood, and that's a politician's job, not mine," he said, nonplussed. "But thank you for your concern. I'll stick to healthy, peachy human beings from now on."

Caroline narrowed her eyes and nearly bit her tongue. She was itching to retort, but the idea of Damon siring someone else was somewhat disturbing, so she dropped the subject altogether.

"Your plate, your fate," she muttered, working on a slight pout to go with her remark. He chuckled at her indignation.

She huffed and tilted her head to the side. His tone of assumed arrogance never failed to annoy her. Though her questions still crowded her mouth, she was determined not to utter any of them – much to his satisfaction – while he was at such a cynical disposition.

Completely unaffected, he wiggled his eyebrows at her. "So you're really resorting to the head tilt to win this argument," he noted.

"What argument?" she asked innocently, but he ignored her.

"... Because I can see right through your whispery, giddy, girly ways. Tilting your head, batting your eyelashes..."

He was, in fact, well versed in her feminine tricks and, with all the knowledge he had gathered during their previous affair, he could go on for hours. However, this time Caroline took it upon her to silence him. She leaned in until their lips met, giving him the softest, sweetest of kisses before parting her lips invitingly. Teasing. Tasting. Piercing.

"Just you wait until I flip my hair," she whispered seductively against the corner of his lips. "I'd own you."

He merely smirked within the kiss, slipping his arms around her waist and reaching for the dress' zipper. As he freed her back of the unnecessary garment, she broke the kiss, her lips trailing over his chest as her hands swiftly pulled down his boxer briefs.

The wind sighed and the branches resumed their chant, stretching skywards into the night. They kissed each other roughly and blindly, pushing their bodies to the peak of inhuman prowess, experimenting with the combination of affection and desire.

* * *

><p>Caroline dreamt that night, of queens and knights and rooks and poems. Inexplicable forces whispered in her ears secrets about recent and distant events.<p>

She woke up to the sun filtering through the window glass. She laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled as he stirred a bit, without waking from his comfortable slumber. After three nights of sleep deprivation, he seemed to be making the most of it.

The noise in the house reached her amplifying ears and she forced herself out of bed. She took a shower, got dressed in jeans and a creamy white top with just the right amount of cleavage, and let her hair fall in golden waves down her shoulders. Her complexion was flawless and her lips had a subdued wine colour.

She looked further into the mirror, not at her own reflection, but at the man splayed on the bed behind her, a sheet draping him. He jerked in his sleep, his frame unaccustomed to stillness. Not wanting to wake him up, she walked towards the door with feather-light steps.

He looked so innocent when he was sleeping. His face was so candid and his skin so smooth, a softness that only death could bestow.

She recalled standing like that on another occasion, watching him sleep, only the fear of waking him up had been almost paralyzing then. The feeling washed over her like a vague _déjà vu_, and that sequence of events played out inside her mind. She'd tried to sneak out the room, but he was quicker, taller and stronger. He took pleasure in terrifying her and just a drop of her blood was enough to provoke his insatiable hunger.

She shook her head. It was in the past. She was only human then. She hesitated for a moment before carefully pulling the door open.

Caroline had successfully walked ten steps into the corridor when she collided with hard, cold muscle. She bit back a short expletive and looked up at the offending obstacle. She saw his shoulders first, strong and sinewy, and his arm sprang forward to steady her.

"I believe Keanu Reeves said it best when he said: 'Whooa'." Stefan said. Flustered, she glared at him, raking her fingers through her hair, as if to make sure her head didn't fall off. So much for heightened senses, she kept running smack-bang into everybody.

"Looks like you've got a lot on your mind."

"Yeah, and it's just probably spilled all over the floor," she complained, piling blonde curls high on her head before letting it cascade down again.

The younger Salvatore smiled tolerantly. He gestured towards the staircase. "I'm going for a walk outside. Would you like to come?"

She considered his offer for a moment, still glaring, until the corner of her lips lifted in the smallest hint of a smile. She was dying to leave the house.

They walked in silence for half a block, before engaging in trivial conversation. It was a crisp cool afternoon, but there weren't many people out. Cars rolled slowly, others sat parked, lonely on the street.

Stefan liked the quietness of the days. When he was out the night before, he had rightly guessed that the place was a nice one to wander about under daylight.

"Have you and Damon talked things over?" he asked conversationally, when they had walked a little less than three blocks.

"We talked a few things over," she answered cautiously.

He might be aiming to, but Stefan's query didn't catch her off guard. She was very aware that the words she and Damon exchanged that night were as powerful as evasive. They had been lost in the comfort of each other's arms, but they hadn't exactly defined their situation. They had never discussed where they'd stand once they returned to Mystic Falls.

"That's a step up from yesterday's silent treatment," he said, reassuringly.

Her doll-like face relaxed into an impish glee. "I suppose," she said. "And it only took a glimpse of a zombie apocalypse to get us here."

Stefan smiled. It was impossible not to do so when her face lit up like that.

"Not much of a surprise, seeing as you're both equally hard headed," he said and then paused as if contemplating their striking similarities.

They were both as impulsive and obstinate as they were self-destructive. Yet, he felt like death hadn't really touched her, hadn't changed her essentially. She'd gotten the best of both worlds, she had all of their strengths, very few of their weaknesses. That intriguing characteristic could never escape his brother's attention.

In fact, he believed that was the very reason why Damon set off to kill Caroline upon her transition. They expected death to do away with her peppiness, and that would be a shame. And, even if it didn't happen, with such esprit she'd hardly make for a fit vampire. Damon might have wanted to spare himself of both the trouble _and_ the disappointment.

He didn't know what made his brother reconsider their hasty assumptions, but now, it seemed, he was willing to go to great lengths to preserve her liveliness, to make her _happy_, even as his immoral influence put her human values at risk.

It wasn't to say that Caroline didn't sway over him as well. Though his actions sometimes seemed to dangerously border maniac depressive behaviour, her presence was slowly but surely pulling him away from the edge of the abyss.

Stefan was relieved to see that her trust in him and his trust in any female could still be mended by the acceptance they found in each other, no matter how severely it had been broken before.

"I don't think you realise how much you affect him," he swept on. "Around you, he's not half as cruel as he used to be. He's changing."

Caroline shot him a sidelong glance and he could swear he saw surprise flit over her eyes. The idea of having any kind of power over Damon Salvatore had never occurred to her. _She_ was the one vying for his approval half of the time.

Sure, he was nicer to her now, but he was still the most egotistical man she'd ever spent any amount of time with. His psychotic days were behind him and hidden traits of his personality began to stand out – like honesty and loyalty -, but she could hardly consider it a change if he had it in him all this time, beneath that really scary surface.

"He's still the same, we all are," she shrugged. "He's just less angry, I guess."

They were dead, Caroline thought, and that was something that wasn't going to change any time soon. She shook her head softly and faced the houses that stood pompously on each side of the street.

"When Damon became a vampire, it's like he fell into the darkness and hit the bottom," Stefan began, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But he's not really like that anymore. Call it what you like, but you're the one who brought out the better side of him."

"Don't you think that's too much responsibility?"

"It is," he said sincerely. "But we know too well there are things we can't control. And maybe this is his last chance to redeem himself. I do know he's already wasted too many."

"Let's not get too greedy." She choked out an awkward laugh. "This is the guy who killed more people than I've met and you said yourself that he's found some balance. Maybe we should just be thankful and leave it at that."

Truthfully, she hoped he was done with _changing_. She'd rather things stayed the way they were than ruin them with the obsessive pursue of deliverance.

"Trust me," Stefan sneered, disrupting her trail of thoughts, "when it comes to Damon, there's a large room for improvement. He's still a killer, Caroline."

"Seeing as we're all vampires, I don't think I can hold it against him," she countered. "As long as he spares the innocent."

Stefan let out a bitter laughter. "And who's to be the judge of that?"

Something inside her rebelled against the moral discipline propaganda, but Caroline refrained from responding. The unorthodox, deviant idea of vampires' privileged status over humankind wouldn't sit well with him.

What she knew for certain was that she wouldn't dare ask Damon to change when he was everything she wanted him to be when they first got together and everything she fantasized about thereafter. She would not ask him to be a better man when he already was.

"I don't know the first thing about redemption," she said. "Everything that used to be black and white is now a thousand shades of gray."

"Is it really?" he murmured. "Our actions, though, are mainly either good or evil, even if we feel they're justified or well-intended."

"But how do you _know_ that?" she asked before she could help herself. "The way I see it, it'd be easy to believe something and always be right in one's own context, but you'll never know for sure."

His eyes caught a sparkle of interest for a few seconds, and he asked slowly and deliberately: "What do you_ believe_, Caroline?"

"I believe," she said without hesitation, happy with the opportunity to share her own ideas, "that we can't have pre-determined beliefs, we have to choose every moment, every day what's right and what's wrong. And I believe we should get to take a peek on the other side before deciding."

It was better to be left unsaid that she herself didn't want to go on pretending to be human all the time, in every aspect of her life, ignoring her instincts. There was a whole society out there based on the principle that they were predators with the ability and right to capriciously choose their prey and she wanted to explore that indulgent philosophy.

If she'd learnt anything from the spooky things she'd witnessed lately, it was that Nature itself requires that some live and others die. Killing didn't make them monsters, as long as there was some ethics involved in the process. What Stefan expected of them, however, was pretty close to sanctity.

The living normally didn't feel a need to prey on fellow humans and there lied a _vital_ difference between their kinds. She could show humanness and compassion without being defanged, she pettishly thought, and that was something she'd have to prove both Stefan and Damon.

It was funny, actually, that each brother accused her of sympathizing too much with the other's view when she was struggling so much to be her own person.

Stefan heard her confident speech reverently. The idea wasn't original in the least, but she seemed to have really thought it through. Even though he didn't believe virtue could coexist harmoniously with vice, one being the corruption of the other, he thought she deserved a chance to try to prove the practicality of her idea. The best of both worlds, he told himself.

"I understand," Stefan said, "that we can't learn everything from others' experiences. I just hope you can draw a line between your perceptions' and Damon's," he warned her dejectedly, concern showing in his handsome face.

"I'm not really a masochist, I know that now. And I can promise you that if he ever switches his feelings off or whatever, I'll leave," she said. "I won't deal with vampire sociopathy and crap."

They lowered their gaze to the ground, watching the shape that their bodies made as they stepped along the sidewalk until the younger Salvatore scratched the back of his head and sighed with resignation. "I guess it _is_ a match made in hell."

"And let it never be said otherwise," she mock-agreed.

"I really don't want to get between you and Damon," he said, as they made their way back. "But I'm here if you need me. And so are Elena and Bonnie."

"And the way you just worked that on the conversation is pretty amazing," she said sarcastically.

He pursed his lips to suppress the small smile that was tugging at the corner of his lips. Of course he would bring that up sooner or later. She should have expected that much.

"You've been avoiding your friends for almost a week now," he said simply. "And you haven't been very approachable even before that."

"Right, because turning into a vampire shouldn't have affected me at all," she snapped. "If you think about it, nothing really changed. I'm your regular undying cheerleader – with a crave for blood."

"Caroline-"

"In fact, I should get more people aboard so I can show off my superpowers. Maybe throw a party for the sake of socializing. Unfortunately, the ability to smell off milk is not gonna make me any more popular."

He stared at her blankly. "What are you saying? You're not a party girl anymore?"

She turned to aim a withering glower at him and almost fell over a twig in the process. Why the hell did she keep doing that? Shaking free of her exasperation, she struggled to think of ways to defend her behaviour, but she couldn't find any.

Deep down, she knew that she'd just have to suck it up and find a way to adjust to her new situation. They were her lifelong friends and, if she was to be honest, she'd have to admit that they were making an effort to be by her side no matter what. She had to meet them halfway.

"It's never easy," he conceded. "But the people who love you, they're still there to support you. So don't shut them out completely."

Caroline sighed. In that he was right. Her friends could have turned away, ignored her, and pretended she'd never existed. They didn't have any obligations to her. But they decided to stay because they cared. Being a vampire was hard on her, but it was hard on everyone around her, too. Now that the post-transition crisis, or whatever Damon called it, had subsided, she could see how her transformation had affected others.

Stefan placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, and her heart sank. For the first time since she was dragged into that clusterfuck, she missed her friends.

* * *

><p>Damon woke up to an odd ringing. It wasn't loud, but sharp and insistent. He cracked an eye open and the furniture looked somewhat distorted. He could barely focus as he tried to make out the offending cell phone on the nightstand.<p>

Since he was used to sleep lightly, like the dead should, he blamed Caroline for sending him off to the land of Nod. Her presence made everything feel so familiar and snug that it induced him to sleep like he did back when he was human.

The noise was getting louder and louder, the walls of the room and Caroline's absence more concrete. It was all so meaningless and real that he didn't have a choice but to wake up. He rolled on his back to reach the renitent device.

"Not even a call?" a feminine voice on the line complained. "Have you forgotten all about lonely, little me? I'm not just some silly doll, you know-"

He cringed. Waking up to a woman nagging him for not calling her back. That was exactly what he needed. And she didn't really make much sense either. He hadn't been with a woman, save for Caroline, for at least a week.

"I think you have the wrong number."

"Of course I don't," she whined. "I can't believe you don't even recognize my-"

"Jeanette," he said hastily if only to make her shut up. As he got on his feet, his irritation dissolved into bland resignation. He supposed he might have to talk to her sooner rather than later, since he'd have to report back to her sister anyway.

"Oh, I knew you could never forget me, even though you're so cosy with her imperial and royal majesty Maria Theresa now," she yelped. "Were you having naughty dreams about me?"

"Her imperial and royal majesty?" he repeated, vaguely amused.

"I mean my sister. She is out making a show of how well her lips fit on the pants seat of the Camarilla. You two are so friendly, aren't you? Did you happen to find her chastity belt or something?"

"No, I'd burn it off if I did," he replied with a cheeky grin. "But I need to talk to her."

"I know about your little business deal. It's not like I eavesdrop or anything, but I heard bits of your conversation with the queen bitch," she drawled. "I spend a few nights with Max and all of a sudden he's run out of town! Paranoia and Therese have been bedfellows for longer than I can remember."

She paused and then went on in a curious tone: "What did _you_ have to do in exchange for Max's integrity and whereabouts?"

"Ever heard of the Brotherhood of the Ninth Circle? Well, their local affiliate has just run out of business."

"So that was the deal?" she said, sounding very excited. "Well, I'm sure Therese will be_ thrilled_ to honour your agreement when you get back."

He approached the window and looked out. The sky was coloured in a comforting shade of gray with brave rays of sunshine sparking through. Caroline and Stefan, it seemed, were just returning from a stroll. He saw him walking by her side, calling up her smiles at his meaningless observations.

The wind rose in a harsh wail and hit Damon across the face. Just as it was dying away, he realised he still held the phone to his ear.

"She gave me her word, didn't she?" he said coldly.

"But, then again, she's been looking for Max _herself_," said Jeanette. "And she's been threatening me. Something involving fire and impious satin sheets. It's so tiresome."

"Why would she do that?" Damon narrowed his eyes and turned away from the window. What was she saying? He could smell treachery from afar. "Is she after him? And how did you get my number, Jeanette? I don't have yours."

"We run this little town; we know everything there is to know about our dear pilgrims," she purred and he could picture the sultry smile on her face. "Just hurry up, will you? I can only amuse myself for so long."

* * *

><p>Alaric leaned on the counter, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he tried his best to make a healthy, normal breakfast with the ingredients he found in a vampire's lair. Gradually, the kitchen was taken by the rich aroma of baked eggs as the caffeine irresistibly scented the air.<p>

Eugene sat at the table across from him, massaging the nape of his neck, his light brown hair tousled and falling over his temple. He had trickled down the stairs drawn by the teacher's post-inebriate nosh, which he was idly waiting to sample.

"Show me the ropes, you say? I was a neonate when I met him, but that didn't make a difference," Eugene was saying as Caroline and Stefan stepped inside the house. "He told me that if I walked long enough in a straight line I'd bump into free meal and that was the end of the lesson. And you can't ask him anything either, he tends to freak out for no reason."

"That's Damon for you," Alaric nodded, cradling a red mug. "You talk to him, he flips you off."

"The bonds of friendship."

Eugene lifted his gaze at Caroline's nearing figure and grinned appreciatively.

"Looking good," he leered.

"Looks like you could use a few hours of sleep," she said condescendingly. "What's the problem? Drained too many poodles last night?"

"Hm, no. I owe my wakefulness to a whole different reason. Maybe you haven't realised, but you're vocal," he spat, exercising his uncanny gift for saying the most inappropriate things he could. Her eyes widened and the outlines of his lips curled into a smirk.

"Oh, shut up," she snapped. She started past him, embarrassed, and settled onto a bar stool at the kitchen island.

"Not bad advice," said Damon, his arctic voice so precise, as he stalked into the narrow and rather crowded kitchen.

He stared at her, lost for a moment, before turning to the others, whom he acknowledged with a curt nod, and leaving Caroline with a faint uneasiness. "You might want to work on it later," he told Eugene. "Now I actually need to speak with you."

"C'mon, it was meant as a compliment..." came Eugene's meek protest.

Stefan shook his head, approaching the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee. He looked at Caroline as though to say "this is valuable time out of eternity I'm never gonna get back, and I blame you for making me come all the way here".

"Afternoon coffee?" Alaric offered, apparently crediting Damon's sour mood to a sugar withdrawal. "It's piping hot."

"No," the vampire said crisply. "Warm doesn't suit my mood today."

"Sorry we're all out of liquid evil," the teacher replied sarcastically.

Damon fixed his deep-set eyes on Eugene and leaned back against the door frame, crossing his arms before his chest.

"Tell me, what's the word on the street?" he asked derisively. "What do _you_ know about Therese and Jeanette Hilton?"

"They run the Asylum, some freaky customers frequent that place," Eugene began, and Caroline nodded fervently in agreement.

"The slutty kind," Caroline muttered to herself, oblivious to their curious glances. Eugene coughed.

"Therese is the brain. She's a good looking broad for a dead chick, but a tough power player. Jeanette is different, she's a bombshell and a little, or a lot, you know, in the head."

"And cheap as a dime store whore," Caroline helpfully put in, but they couldn't make out her words.

"And Max Schreck?"

"I heard a lot about him. If there's anyone who knows everything that's going on in the underworld, it's him. I also heard he's lying low because of Therese. He thought he was about to get whacked, so he's gone underground."

Damon nodded almost imperceptibly, indicating he was satisfied for now and Eugene sighed relieved. The blue-eyed vampire plunged into a thoughtful silence and Stefan pursed his lips, observing his brother's inscrutable manners.

"Indulge my curiosity... what could you possibly have to do with all these people?" Stefan asked.

Caroline lifted her gaze to watch their exchange and didn't even blink as several seconds of sepulchral silence went by.

A lot went unsaid so far and she was eager to see how much he would reveal to his brother now that Stefan was so adamantly pressing on the subject.

_She_ had almost forgotten what they were doing in North Carolina in the first place. Her original motives were so generic and unpretentious; she _just_ wanted to transcend the fate woven by that bloodsucking curse and the misfortune of never being good enough. Why was that so hard?

Anyway, Damon, of course, had a plan of his own. Apparently, he thought her vampire training was lacking and decided that she should be instructed in the ways of an undead society to be granted their common rights. And now they had gotten in so problematic a situation that the only way out was paying tribute to Astor's conceited ass.

He clearly didn't want anyone to know of his pact with the prince, but what he seemed less thrilled to share with the others was the rash circumstance in which he literally put her neck on the line.

"I've told you. I'm doing a favour," Damon replied, calmly.

"I thought the favour was getting rid of the local plague bearers."

"That was a favour within a favour," Caroline offered, amusedly following their less than fraternal interaction.

"Those were Therese's terms in calling off the feud with Schreck," Damon clarified. "Finding him is the real favour. Now I need her to uphold her end of the deal and I was just wondering if she's all that trustworthy."

"Look, Damon," Stefan began, his face turned gravely up towards his brother. "I don't want to overstep -"

"You don't?" Damon feigned surprise. "And here I thought overstepping was your main form of transportation."

"Ah, c'mon. What's in it for you, Damon?" asked Alaric, impatiently.

"I get a Camarilla prince to personally grant me a wish," Damon answered with a mischievous grin. "I'll make sure it's worth my while."

Alaric squinted his eyes, deep lines furrowing his brow, and glanced over at Stefan, who was scowling furiously. They knew that a prince was, to put it simply, the vampire who had enough power to hold domain over a city, and that that organisation made a tidy business out of enforcing vampire laws.

Stefan himself had been approached by their agents a few times, but he always turned them down and avoided crossing their path. It wasn't that difficult, considering their hold was limited in the countryside. In fact, as far as he knew, the South was mainly Anarch territory.

Not that he was supportive of the Anarch cause, either. He knew very little of both sects and the whole thing failed to pique his interest. No, he was repeatedly accused of being a hypocrite as it was, he didn't need any of those supernatural politics to add to his plate.

Of course he should have realised sooner that Damon was very much into politics. He wasn't compromised with any cause but his own; still, he had a knack for getting involved in power struggles. And working as a mercenary was nowhere below him.

"So, you're going vague on this one," he said, dryly. "Should I even ask why they called you of all people?"

"Well, let's see," he pretended to consider. "Vampire. Resourceful. Merciless. Just so happens everyone's supernatural problems are well within my area of expertise."

Stefan stared hardly at him and then at Caroline, who shrugged apologetically. The raven-haired undead, however, sustained his gaze impassively.

"I've done as I was asked," Damon said to no one in particular. His voice rang with determination as he pushed off of the wall. "Now I'm off to collect."

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2:** There are about four _Veronica Mars_'s quotes scattered in here. I'll try to pinpoint them later. I really feel like I shouldn't be uploading before throughly revising it, but being stuck in this chapter was so unnerving :(


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